


Laissez les Bons Temps rouler

by MadameReveuse



Category: The Pacific (TV)
Genre: Horrible French, M/M, Minor Violence, PTSD depiction, Post-War, slow-burn Sledgefu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2015-09-24
Packaged: 2018-03-22 10:07:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 22,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3724894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadameReveuse/pseuds/MadameReveuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eugene learns about the questionable joys of Cajun French.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is based solely on the TV series, of course. No disrespect to the real vets!

Eugene had come to quite like his new nickname “Sledgehammer” (or, when Snafu said it, _Sledgehamma_ ), but what he liked even more was the way Snafu said his god-given name, with that washed-out French g in “Eugene”.

Snafu had never gotten much in the way of formal education ( _“I was born in a swamp, Eugene” he told him one night_ ). He’d been to school for a whopping three years, ( _learned to read and write and add up_ ). Sledge, having graduated from a _respectable_ high school just months before shipping out, reacted with something close to shock. When he asked “But what about…you know, everything else?” Snafu answered with “What else is there?”

But Eugene knew that his new acquaintance (friend? brother at arms?) was anything but simple…and for reasons of his upbringing, of heritage and some ancient grandmother back at home who had insisted on conversing entirely in Cajun-tinged French, Snafu was fluent. And that caused Eugene some amount of consternation.

* * *

 

It was a piss-dark night in a foxhole on Peleliu when Sledge heard Snafu whispering his name. Burgin was keeping watch, so he felt it safe to turn around.

“What d’you want?” he asked, rubbing at his eyes. Fuck, he was tired. Tired to death.

“Eugene” Snafu repeated. What came out of his mouth next was a tirade of foreign lingo like liquid silver, spoken in a low voice, pale eyes boring into Sledge. Who had to swallow.

“You know I have no idea what the hell you just said.”

Snafu shrugged, smirked and continued.

“Cut it out, Snaf. I don’t even speak…whatever that is. French? I assume it’s French.”

 _“Oh merde”_ Snafu replied and gave him a razorblade smile. Then he got up, stubbed out his cigarette and went over to Burgie. “My turn for watch.”

Sledge was thankful he has switched back to English. Snafu speaking French made _things_ happen in the pit of his stomach, things he didn’t want to dwell on…but at least this distracted him from the horrors that surrounded them all. Made it easier to sleep, having some distraction.

It got gradually more annoying when Snafu continued. He only did it to Eugene, those random switches in language, sometimes in the middle of a conversation, sometimes in front of the whole, slightly irritated K company. Eugene still had no idea what the hell he was saying, and Snafu wouldn’t tell, but, him being who he was, Eugene assumed it was either insults or stuff like “I’m hungry” or “Fuck, I hate this bloody island”. He tried to just go with it, and as the months passed, it became white noise. Snafu’s French prattling was now his constant companion almost as much as the man himself. But who cared. Everyone had their little oddities. Granted, some had more of them than others, and that went double for Snafu, but at least this particular one wasn’t hurting anybody…

_…at least this wasn’t like the night Eugene woke up to find him taking his KA-BAR to his own forearm slicing it open, drawing blood with expert ease, “You fucking lost it?!” he had screamed, wrestling the blade away, “Don’t we get enough wounds?!” Now there were nights when Eugene confiscated the knife and was rewarded with a snarl, but he couldn’t do anything against cigarettes leaving little burn marks as they were far too casually ground out on skin, against the crescent shapes of fingernails on flesh. (Sometimes, when Snafu was sleeping, Eugene took his hands and controlled the inside of his nails for freshly caked blood – and wasn’t it just the cherry on top of the awful cake that he could tell the exact age of dried blood by now? He had a feeling that the other marines, when catching sight of his actions, sometimes asked themselves why he bothered. If the batshit Cajun wanted to turn all his ugly rage against himself, let him. They had seen people turn it against their friends. This is better, Gene, believe it or not.)_

One day Eugene got the idea of asking Jay de L’Eau, whose grandparents had hailed from Paris, after the meaning of what Snafu's French. There was an off chance that it was vital for…something, but de L’Eau turned out to not be helpful. “I’ve no idea, Sledgehammer” he had muttered, scratching the back of his head. “Long time since I last heard the language spoken, and anyway, those Cajun bastards butcher it so much…it’s basically pig French, really, not a clue. It’s not my place” he had added cryptically, and Eugene couldn’t help the suspicion that de L’Eau was lying, or at least keeping a secret, because a few days prior, when Snafu had addressed him with _“Eugene? Mon petit chou?”_ he had witnessed de L’Eau choking on his canteen and almost spluttering water over his lap.So whatever Snafu wanted to tell him (or, perhaps, not wanted to tell him…or both at the same time) remained shrouded in mystery and Sledge thought it would unnerve him until the end of time…

* * *

 

But there was one instance when he was thankful. It was after Okinawa and his head was full of blood and gore and abandoned crying babies in wooden huts, Japanese women – civilians – crying and babbling in their heathen lingo and being blown to pieces seconds after, the dying old woman who had grabbed the barrel of his rifle and took it, gently, to her own temple, embracing death…and how she had unwittingly pulled him back from the brink of something horrible. A descent into something horrible, his own voice ringing in his ears _“I hope we get to kill every last one of them…I'd use my goddamn hands if I had to!”_

The realization of how close he had been to madness broke way in a flood of sudden sobs he tried his best to muffle, for the sake of the men sleeping around him, but one of them noticed because of course he always noticed.

“Hey, Eugene. Hey. What’s there to cry ‘bout? Japs surrendered, didn’ they? You’re going home, kid.”

That was Snafu offering comfort in a way that, as always with his comforting attempts, didn’t quite fit the problem, but you were cheered up anyway because Snafu _tried for you_ and that meant a whole lot. Or at least that was usually the case; now Eugene couldn’t seem to stop. Tears kept pouring out, and he curled up into a miserable ball, his body being wracked by the effort to contain his loudest sobs. He hated himself. He wanted Snafu to stop looking at him already. He just needed to be alone and pathetic for a while.

But then there were suddenly hands on his shoulders, and a low voice hushing him, telling him it was alright, it was _all right_ , just let it all out of you, Sledgehammer, let aaaaall the bullshit out of you. And then somehow he was being cradled and making a stain of snot and tears into Snafu’s grimy shirt, and there was a hand slowly stroking his back and another carding through his hair. It was a kind of cleanse-crying, all the muted dread of the last weeks and months washing away in one great flood of tears. And Snafu understood.

“You know” Eugene choked out, trying to make a crack even through his intermittent sobbing, “My mother would sing.”

“Not your mom, Sledge” Snafu replied, but after a minute he started to hum, a low vibration in his chest. Soon enough the humming turned into words, half muttered, half sung.

_“Allons danser Colinda,_

_Danser collé Colinda,_

_Pendant ta mère est pas là_

_Pour faire fâché les vieilles femmes_

_C'est pas tout le monde qui peut danser_

_Tous les vieilles valses des vieux temps…"_

He didn’t quite have a voice for it, but Snafu crooned his way through the whole of what Eugene would later learn was the Colinda. In the darkness around them, men started to hum along. When Snafu stopped, there were some wolf whistles, and he ducked his head, regretting to have put himself out there like that.

“What song was that?” Eugene asked, wiping at his eyes, his sobs having subsided into sniffles and then quiet.

Snafu shrugged. “Jus’ some song we…people back home danced to.”

“You dance too? Before the war?” It was hard to imagine a _before the war_ version of Snafu. He hadn’t even _been_ Snafu before the Marine Corps. Thinking about it felt surreal.

“Might have” Snafu muttered and turned his face away. “So what?”

He had tensed up, and things around them had gone silent, but then Burgin, who had a bit of a gift for deflating moments, brought out another song, straight from the hymn book, and he had a much nicer voice than Snafu and some men chimed in this time. It evolved into a competition of who could belt in the most impromptu dirty lyrics, which was silly and a good deal childish, but it was much better than nightmares, and certainly better than death.

Eugene resolved to ask Snafu for a translation of that song just now, but it never came up again. To be fair, he had thought that now, after the Japanese surrender, they would have all the time in the world to talk, and tackle civilian life together, and translate songs if they felt like it.

But then that didn’t happen.

* * *

 

Some time after the war, Eugene took French classes. It was about the opposite of moving forward and putting things behind him, was actually more like a constant looking back, and it wouldn’t get him anywhere, life-wise. But it made his mother happy that her son was, to some degree, actively participating in life again, and his father said you could never know too many languages. He also got a whole arsenal of French expletives out of the giggling female instructor, because he felt like it would make Snafu smile.

It was about then that he realized he was thinking of Snafu in would-be’s, in past tense, as if he was another one of the fallen. It was about then that he realized how silly all this was, and hopped on a train to Louisiana.

* * *

 

As he came out in New Orleans after an uneventful train ride, Eugene found that maybe he should have made some sort of plan before taking the plunge…and he should definitely have figured in Mardi Gras.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit, this got long. So, did you know Allons Danser Colinda is an extremely interesting song? You will never find the exact same lyrics twice, probably due to it getting passed on by word of mouth and everyone singing it a little differently. It's also stuck in my head now. Forever.

New Orleans was crowded. Very, _very_ crowded.

It was just Eugene’s luck. There he spent months and months building up the courage to come here, and when he did it was the middle of the carnival. It was…debatable if he’d find a room for tonight, let alone Snafu. The streets were filled with people in costumes, thousands of voices, music, and so many different smells. After the peace and quiet of Mobile, it was all more than a bit startling. Eugene had just seen some grown-up men chasing a chicken. All very strange. Many of the people here spoke that lilting, slow Big Easy drawl that reminded him of Snafu. Just then, a few snatches of a song floated through the air towards Eugene.

_Colinda was the finest belle in all the bayou land,_

_And all them boys who saw her there they failed to win her hand_

_Maman she always chaperon’d Colinda day an’ night,_

_She didn’a want them Cajun boys to hold her daughter tight_

_Allons danser Colinda…_

He looked around and traced the singing back to a small group of people sitting around a table in front of a bar. They were in full traditional costume, but had shed their masks for now. One man was going around with a hat while a woman was singing, and three other fellows sat with a card game between them. Eugene waited until the song had ended to approach them.

“Good evening” he said to the woman. “You sang wonderfully. Can I buy all of you a drink?”

He saw the men sizing him up and knew he’d probably get his ass kicked if one of them decided he was getting too familiar with the lady. So Sledge aimed for polite, not flirtatious. He didn’t want her anyway.

“We don’ like handouts, honey” she said, Cajun accent thick. But just a few octaves too high. Her hair a mess of dark curls. But just a few inches too long. He _did_ _not_ want her. Her costume was a shaggy riot of colors, cobbled together from many scraps of silk, the tinkling jewelry on her arms well-worn as her mask. Her face that of a queen of the world. _“The Arcadians are poor, uneducated and, for some strange reason, proud of it”_ Eugene remembered a friend of his father’s, who had been over for dinner a few months ago, say as he told tales of his travels through Louisiana. Back then he had thought of Snafu and clenched his glass so tightly that he’d made a dent in it.

“Okay, alright” Sledge said. “Can you…do you care to tell me…what song was that just?”

They looked at each other and shrugged. “It’s just…yeah, just the Colinda.”

“It’s about…dancing?”

“It’s a love song.” The woman licked her scarlet lips and chuckled, and suddenly Sledge found her feather boa wrapped around his shoulders. “You like a palm reading, cher?” Before Eugene could respond, she had already grabbed his hand with her free, non-boa-wielding one. “This is your heart line, sweetie, and it says that soon there will be new love in your life…!”

“No, thank you, Miss. Really” Eugene said as politely as he could and put as much distance between them as the boa would permit. Snafu had talked of girls like this, on one of the rare occasions Sledge had gotten him to speak about his home. _“You ain’t nevah wanna flirt at a Cajun belle, Sledgehamma” he had said. “They gon’ make like they wanna tell your fortune or some other crap, they’ll hug you an’ give you a big kiss goodbye, an’ later on you’ll be missing your wallet. Tha’s Nawlins fo’ ya, getting’ by, makin’ money offa tourists.”_

“You know, the reason I was wondering about this song is…um…I knew a guy who used to sorta hum it? I’m looking for him right now and I thought maybe…”

One of the men looked up from the game of poker that was still in progress on the table. “Then good luck searchin’, peekon” he said. “More Cajun boys here than you can shake a stick at, an’ every one ah those gonna know the Colinda.”

Sledge sighed. “That’s not gonna help, then.”

They looked at him with the slight pity people reserve for the mentally impaired, but someone decided to humor him.

“Maybe if you had a name to go with that…”

“Merriell Shelton.”

The woman dropped her boa and uttered a loud wolf-whistle.

“ _You_ lookin’ for _Merriell_?” one of the men asked.

“Yes? And why shouldn’t I? We served together” Sledge said testily.

“You a soldier boy?”

Sledge sighed once more. “Not anymore. War’s over, folks.”

The men around the table exchanged looks. “Well, we still can’t help ya. Ain’t seen Merriell ‘round town ever since he shipped out wi’ the US muh-reeeeen corps” one said, drawing out the word in mockery. “No idea he ever even made it back.”

“Well, he did” Eugene replied.

“Tha’s news” another guy said. He didn’t say whether it was _good_ news.

“Sometimes folks get weird ideas. Go get 'emselves shipped off to god-knows-where, fight some war what isn't theirs” another man, who had not yet spoken, opined.

Snafu had not had weird ideas. He probably didn’t even know how to _spell_ patriotism. Eugene had asked him what someone like him had enlisted for, one day while trudging through Peleliu hills. Snafu hadn’t even honored the question with words. Had just held out a hand in his direction and rubbed the thumb and index finger together in an indicating gesture.

“You enlisted for the _money_?” Sledge had asked. At that time, the way-too-fearless boy with his murmuring heart who had cried his eyes out because he’d wanted to fight for _his country_ , for a _just cause_ , had been a somewhat distant memory already, and _he_ would have been appalled that someone should choose to go to war for materialistic reasons. Now, Sledge had rather thought how the pocket money the marine corps paid wasn’t worth getting your ass busted half a world from home. Snafu had thought otherwise, had turned and bared his teeth.

“Fucking what, Sledgehamma?” he had half hissed. “We ain’t all sons of doctors, here. Yeah, I enlisted for the cash, an’ for a uniform I don’ have to share with no one, an’ for free chow, too. You know the Jap gold, that’s my insurance. Mine. But the paychecks from the corps, they go direc’ly to my momma so that she can put food on the table for the lil’ ones. An’ if you got a fuckin’ problem wi’ that, you think it’s not right I’m not gettin’ blown to shit for truth justice an’ America, you can fucking think again.”

Back in the present, the masked lady pinched his cheek and offered him a glass of something. “Listen, cher, have this drink on me” she said, something like pity in her voice. “An’ while you’re at it, why don’t you forget Merriell. He done nothin’ to deserve a cutie like you.”

“I, we, I don’t know what you’re implying, Miss” Eugene said, looking down at the glass. “We really just served together.”He couldn’t identify what was in the glass, but it had bananas in it. There could hardly be any harm to drinking something with bananas in it. It was practically fruit salad.

* * *

 

Later, when he ambled (more like stumbled) through the streets feeling seriously woozy, Eugene was inclined to believe the banana drink hadn’t been quite as harmless as it had seemed. It was seriously annoying that this place was so overcrowded well into the night, because he kept stumbling into people and that was just…uncomfortable. Couldn’t they have their carnival elsewhere? Seriously, the last time he had been surrounded by so many humans had been…oh Jesus, that had been the war, that had been K bloody Company.

Eugene stopped in his tracks, his head spinning. Promptly, another person collided with his back. He turned and saw a young man, certainly dressed up as _something_ … although as what, Eugene couldn’t say. He was shirtless, a tiny vest covering pretty much nothing of his upper body, on his head a high, but very battered top hat. Half his face was hidden behind a skull mask, and he had smeared some sort of dark make-up around his eyes where they were visible through the holes of the mask for the extra grim reaper look. He held a cigarette in one hand and what looked like a bottle of pure rum in the other. And, yes, he was swaying a bit.

“Sorry” Eugene said, kind of choking on the word.

“Nah” the stranger replied, took off his hat and profferred it with a flourish. “Drop a coin for the Baron?” he asked. “It’s tradition, dropping ah coin.”

Eugene straightened his back and willed a smile on his face. “Wouldn’t know about that tradition” he said.

“C’mon, Sledgehamma.”

“No, really, I’ll be on my way” Eugene said, pushing past the stranger as politely as possible, when his brain caught up.

Wait, _Sledgehammer_? Here and now? He turned around to where the other man was still standing. And then, with a jolt of horror, he saw what the stranger was carrying around his neck and everything fell into place…a second before blackness snuck up on him and he softly fainted.

“Aw, come on” he heard a voice say somewhere above him.

* * *

 

He woke up wrapped in sheets that smelled of lavender.

The bed was small and it creaked when he moved and the mattress hung almost down to the floor, but the pillow and blanket were so large and soft that Eugene felt like lying in a giant marshmallow. He sat up and assessed his surroundings. He had no idea where he was or how he had gotten here. But the smell of lavender was very soothing.

“Sir?”

Eugene looked up to see that he was being monitored closely by a little girl, who sat in a rocking chair against the far wall of the room. She rocked it, eliciting another creaking noise from the ancient wood. She looked…ten years old, or eleven, maybe, the wild mop of dark curls on her head reminding him of someone.

“Sir, are you awake?”

“Yes” Eugene said. “Where am I? And who are you?”

She looked at him a little shyly, and when he asked for her name again, she muttered something that sounded like “Leelee”.

“That’s a cute name” Eugene said.

“Thank you, sir” she replied with the tiniest smile. “But maman said I should take you downstairs when you’re awake. Maman can explain things to you, Mr. Sledge.”

So she knew his name too, huh? And apparently her mother was downstairs and could explain things. Good. Eugene was a little awkward around kids. He got up – thankfully the hangover was light, a dull throbbing in his temples but nothing more – and found that someone had removed his shoes and shirt. He found the shoes by the bedside and put them on, but the shirt remained vanished. He shrugged it off and went downstairs, led by the girl.

When he entered the kitchen, the woman working the stove turned around. She had the same wild curls and tan skin as her daughter, and although her eyes were lined with smallish wrinkles and her hands were calloused from hard work, she was attractive still, for a woman in her mid-forties. Another, even smaller girl was hanging on to her skirt, this one blonde.

“Oh cher, you’re awake!” the woman said and, to Eugene’s surprise, started gushing: “I’m so glad, having you here. Merriell couldn’ stop runnin’ his mouth about you – how you saved his life on that airfield. Oh and so many other times, too. Boy wouldn’t ‘ave made it back out of that hell if it wasn’t fo’ you, and I’m grateful. Sit down, please, dear, have some oatmeal.” With an energetic force, she pulled him up a chair and he sat. The bowl of oatmeal that was proffered wasn’t the gray slime he was dreadfully used to from at home. Whoever this woman was, she could do things with honey, butter and cinnamon sugar that made oatmeal look and smell enticing.

“Merriell?” he asked, taking up a spoon. “I’m sorry, ma’am. Do you mean Sna-“

Just then, the door swung open. “Maman, I went down the road an’ asked ‘bout the…oh” Snafu said. “Bonswa, Sledgehamma.” Now that he was back home, his bloody accent had gotten even thicker, if that was even possible.

Eugene smiled thinly. “Don’t you mean bonsoir?” Now he thought he could understand de L’Eau, way back when, and what he said about Snafu “butchering” French.

“I meant good mornin’, ya prick.”

“Me, a prick? You’ve got some nerve, Shelton.” Eugene set the spoon back down, carefully, as if it was a live grenade. “What makes someone a prick, for you? Maybe leaving your best friend on a train, without dropping an address, or a phone number, or an actual goodbye? Maybe that’s a thing an utter prick would do, yeah?”

Snafu’s mother, who had been busy scrubbing the stove, suddenly turned eerily silent. “Merriell” she said, her voice foreboding. “Is that true? Did you do that? Did he do that?” she asked Eugene.

“Yes, ma’am, I was sleeping when we reached New Orleans. He left without waking me up.”

To Eugene’s surprise, she reached over and gave Snafu a smack along the ear.

“Oww, maman…”

“Dear God, Merriell, I can’t believe this! Did they teach you that sort of manners in the war? Is this a way to treat your friends? Is this a way to treat a man whom you owe your good-for-nothin' life a hundred times over? You should have been grateful, and…”

“Oh, shut up, mom!”

She gasped. “In this tone! To your mother! I should clean out your mouth with soap, again! You – take your friend out on the porch. Ain’t nobody gettin’ back inside until you fix this mess.”

“But…do we have to go out?”

“I’ll not have your foul mouth inside around my little girls. Go, now, the both of you. Shoo!”

Seconds later, the front door clicked shut and there they stood, awkwardly facing each other. Eugene looked Snafu over, not sure whether to punch him in the face or…what.

Back on Peleliu, on Okinawa, he had found himself thinking Snafu ugly as sin, filthy and ruined, his face mottled with bruises, eyes deep in their awful sockets, hair a mat of sweat and dirt, skeletal frame eternally covered in grime. A non-human thing, a constant reminder of what war did to you if you got it really bad. Better to be blown to shit, better to be buried and forgotten. After the war, after they’d gotten some decent meals and spanking new dress uniforms and some time for wounds to heal, Eugene had been surprised by what a handsome man Snafu was really. The sight of him with his hair slicked back and a sloppy loose tie, looking like the cover of men’s health magazine had cheered Eugene up a great deal on Snafu’s behalf, had made him think a future where Snafu adjusted to civilian life was within reach and possible. He hadn’t even been too unnerved when he’d started to unsuccessfully hit on girls, making use of just about the rudest, most annoying pick up lines possible. As he looked at Snafu now, he was surprised again.

Snafu had a faint smile on his face and a smear of black underneath his right eye from last night, where apparently he had neglected to properly scrub the make-up off. Eugene could remember a time when the black below Snafu’s eyes hadn’t been paint. Could remember a time when he hadn’t been able to imagine Snafu having a life outside the war, a home, a family he’d left behind. He had set foot on these islands and Snafu had been there, as if waiting for him. For all Eugene had known about him, the bastard could have been born there, spat out by the cesspool of war that was the South Pacific already fully grown, with his rifle and his knife and a smile that cut through you and pale eyes that watched you bleed. (Later, of course, he had learned that Snafu was that much more, not a spectre, not an empty husk, just a guy who’d seen too much. That he could be comfort, could be care, in his own way.)

Here, Snafu was different. No, scratch that. Here, on the front porch of this tiny old house which seemed to be – a quick look around – surrounded mostly by swamp, Snafu was absent. This right here was Merriell, a man whose priorities were his mother and his sisters and the solid work he probably had. Eugene did not know Merriell at all, had never met the guy before, had a thousand things to say to him, another thousand questions to ask, and they were clamoring to use his mouth all at once.

“You’re wearing my shirt” he said.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Picks right up where I've left off a literal eternity ago. An awkward talk, some fluff and a realization.

“You’re wearing my shirt.”

“Yeah” Snafu said quietly. “And it’s the nicest shirt I had in a lifetime.”

“Keep it. I brought spares” Eugene said stiffly because the bastard was wearing it already, so what difference did it make?

Apparently all the difference, because Snafu squinted at him almost as if he was angry. “I don’ need handouts, Sledgehamma” he said sharply.

Eugene made a mental note of that. The people here, he thought. They don’t like handouts. Stealing Eugene’s shirt at night was perfectly alright apparently, but Eugene offering it was not.

“So, where the hell are we here?” Eugene asked.

“Home” Snafu said. “Mine, that is.”

Once again, awkward silence reigned.

“Nice place” Eugene said.

Snafu snorted. “Comin’ apart at the seams, is what it is. But we’re making ends meet.” He raised his chin as if silently daring Sledge to make a derogatory remark – or steeling himself for it. Even though Eugene wanted to be mad at him – was mad at him, hell – this quiet, stubborn resilience in the face of their class difference saddened him – because Snafu thought it mattered. Hadn’t they lived under worse, so much worse circumstances together? Hadn’t they been equal _over there?_

“I said” he said, pointedly, “It’s nice.” He swept his gaze over the house, appraising. Yes, it was small, and perhaps a little rundown, and half-covered in ivy, but it had a quaint kind of charm to it. “You’ve got a little something…” Sledge added, pointing out the black smear under Snafu’s eye, feeling it sensible to change the topic. “What the hell costume was that even? And don’t you think a necklace made of Jap teeth was a _little_ tasteless?”

“Tha’s what maman said too, but hell, it was part of the costume. An’ if you don’t know who I was, there’s no use tellin’ you.”

Well, now Snafu was looking way too smug. All Eugene’s feelings – of betrayal, of loneliness – that he had felt since waking up on that train alone came bubbling back up inside his chest. Without warning, he swung out and decked Snafu in the face. It was a good, solid punch that would hurt his knuckles later, and Snafu stumbled back and yelped. “The hell was that for?!”

“Fuck, you know what it was for, Shelton” Eugene snarled as he grabbed him by the collar of his borrowed shirt. He brought their faces close and wondered if he should punch Snafu a little more, just to drive the message home. Snafu resisted, kicking and scratching and trying to wriggle away. “Hell, no I don’t, Eugene” he hissed. “You knew damn well we was both gonna go our separate ways. What d’you think was gonna happen?”

“I thought maybe you would leave me an address. A phone number. A tiny fucking hint that you give a fuck about…” He broke off because he didn’t want to continue that sentence. He wanted Snafu to understand, but he didn’t want to say things like “after all we’ve been through”, “our friendship”, “whatever it was we had”, “Don’t you care about me at all?” Snafu would laugh at him.

He pushed him away, the futility of the whole situation settling. Here he had come all the way to this as-of-yet nameless swamp in Louisiana, only to discover he still couldn’t say the things he wanted to say.

“You really don’t, huh?” he asked, grimly. “You really don’t give a fuck. To you I’m just some, some…”

Suddenly there were fingers gripping his wrist, much lighter and softer than he had thought Snafu capable of being. “Sledgehamma. No. I know what you’re thinking and…no.”

“Then why did you leave?” Eugene hated the way the words came out, sounding lost. Timid. Lonely. Like the child he wasn’t anymore.

“Gene, fuck, I thought it was for the better. Thought we’d never go back to normal if we stuck around each other. Too many memories.”

“The memories are there anyway, aren’t they? I thought we could…take those on together. Like we took on everything together, over there. But I suppose…”

_People have different ways of coping,_ Sledge reminded himself. If Snafu wanted to cope by leaving everything behind, he was damn well entitled to. And could Eugene really blame him for wanting to go home to his family?

Trying not to look or sound bitter, he turned around, ready to step off the porch, as he said: “I suppose you want me to leave now. Thanks for taking me in for the night, and sorry for my intrusion into your home. Guess I’m off then.”

In his back Snafu said: “No. Eugene”, his voice taking on a distinct edge of panic.

“What?”

“I wouldn’t go out in the swamp, if I was you. No knowing what you gonna run into.”

Eugene turned his head (just his head), lips curling in a cruel kind of amusement. “What, you mean there’s crocodiles in there?”

“No” Snafu said. “But there’s gators. Different thing.”

“Gators” Sledge repeated, incredulous, and there they were, back to Peleliu hills and _bad germs_.

This time Snafu didn’t mess it up. This time Eugene was suddenly tackled from behind and felt skinny arms wrap around him and then Snafu all but headbutted his shoulder and stayed like that. And Eugene felt the smile on his face turn into something real.

* * *

 

They didn’t know how long they stood there, just hugging. But at some point, maybe minutes, maybe hours later, the front door opened and Snafu’s mother appeared, the little girls in tow.

“Are you boys settled now?” she asked.

Snafu took his head from Eugene’s shoulder and said: “Yes, ma.”

“Good, then. Someone needs to drop the girls off at school, and you promised Monsieur Laventure you’d do the morning round today, so get busy. Your friend can come inside and have breakfast. In the afternoon I want to do something about all these vines on the roof…”

“What morning round?” Eugene asked as they all went inside and watched the girls prepare for school.

“It’s a Mardi Gras thing” Snafu replied while tying his sister’s shoelaces. “Every morning after, some of us go round and fish some tourists outta the swamp. Idiots get drunk then run headlong into trouble. I remember few years back some of ‘em went round asking for guided tours. They was chasin’ the…what’s it called…ah yeah, the _authentic Cajun experience_.”

“That’s horrible” Eugene said, trying not to chuckle as he imagined a grumpy teenaged Snafu taking some rich tourists on a tour around the bayou.

“If you ask me, they deserved an authentic Cajun fist in the face. But they paid well, so what the fuck.”

_“Merriell, for the very last time_ , if I hear you using such language around your sisters ever again…”

* * *

 

Sledge ended up accompanying Snafu as he drove his little sisters to school. He learned that their names were Louise (twelve years old, normally went by Lisa or Leelee, quiet and far too mature) and Judith-Marie (ten, all smiles and adoring eyes for her brother, blonde unlike the rest of the family and presumably the reason why their father had left, but not loved any less for this). Snafu called both of them “boo”.

Their village was a tiny recluse, small houses tucked into the swamp and in between trees, connected by dusty pathways. Impossible to be found if you didn’t know where to look. It was a good place, Eugene thought, for someone like Snafu to retreat to.

“You don’t get very many foreigners here, huh?” he asked.

As always, Snafu picked up on what he truly meant with ease. “If you wasn’t welcome here, Gene, I wouldn’t have brought you here” he said.

Eugene listened to the girls chatter in the backseat and when they had been dropped off, he remarked: “Snaf, your sisters…I noticed that, when they speak…not to be rude but, they don’t have that…um…like you and your mom, that…accent?”

Snafu chuckled. “Queen’s fucking English” he said, proudly. “They learn that in school. Fucking hell, look at Leelee, she’s twelve and been to school longer ‘n I have. And it makes it worth it, ya know? Enlisting and going over _there_ and all the bullshit.”

Eugene smiled because life was weird and apparently Snafu’s had more of a purpose than his. Who would have thought.

Suddenly, Snafu stared straight at him with this look in his eyes that Eugene knew too well, the one that was always a bit haunted, and said: _“Tu me manques.”_

“Watch the road” Eugene replied and suppressed a shiver. This was too much like old times, only now Eugene averted his eyes and stared out of the window, pretending he hadn’t understood when really, he had.

* * *

 

In the afternoon, when Snafu was off working (apparently he had found employment at a lumber mill) Eugene, who got bored by himself, tried to engage conversation with Snafu’s mother. Mrs. Shelton was, not unlike her son, a person without an ounce of stillness in her. With Snafu this manifested in an acute inability to shut his bloody trap; his mother wasn’t as talkative, but perpetually moving about and at work, hands never resting. Eugene learned that she officially worked as a midwife, but most of the time was the neighborhood’s laundress. There weren’t always babies due, but laundry was eternal.

She seemed wary of Eugene, not exactly distrustful, but like she didn’t quite know what to make of him, until he offered to take care of removing the ivy from the roof. There had been another awkward moment when she had tried to assure him that he was their _guest_ and didn’t _need_ to help and they were _making do_ , but he calmly replied that he liked being useful, and that it “Would do me a world of good to do something with my hands again, ma’am.”

At that she smiled and said “It’s maman. Well, it’s Serafine-Marie, but you get my meanin’. Be careful not to stay out in the sun too long, cher, we don’ want you gettin’ sunstroke.” And just like that, she seemed to have adopted him.

When Snafu came home, the smell of sweat and sawdust trailing him, and spotted Eugene on the roof, he looked up shading his eyes and hollered: “Watcha doin’ up there, Sledgehamma?”

“Earning my keep” Eugene replied.

“Get outta here, you serious? Imma come up” Snafu said.

“You’ve been working all day, Snaf. Lemme just do this. Your mom’s inside baking something that looks like French bagels…”

“Beignets?”

“That’s what she said.”

“Holy…Christ” Snafu muttered, a sort of reverence on his face. He sped inside so fast he almost became a blur.

* * *

 

No ten minutes later, Mrs. Shelton came out with a beignet and a cup of coffee for Eugene, “For my hard-workin’ lad. Take it before ‘Riell eats everythin’ in sight.” To his surprise, she gathered up her skirt, climbed his ladder and joined him on the roof, adept like a little girl.

“’Ere, Eugene” she said, and she spoke his name like Snafu did, with that washed-out French g that made him feel the weird urge to grab Snafu and push his tongue into his mouth, which he carefully avoided thinking about…

“I need ta ask you somethin’” maman continued, and Eugene thought _oh no, here comes._

“Merriell is…he doesn’ talk. About the war, that is.”

“I understand that, ma’am. Maman” Sledge said. “I didn’t tell my parents a lot either. It’s…it’s a life-altering experience. It changes you. And…you don’t want to tell stories, you don’t want to be a hero, you just…want to leave it all behind. And maybe if we don’t talk, that happens more quickly.” He meant to close it at that, hoped she picked up the hint, hoped she saw that he wasn’t talking either. But under her searching gaze he found himself adding: “It’s better if people don’t…the people who weren’t there, they cannot understand. I’m not saying this like soldiers are better than other people. Not like _ha-ha, we won’t let any civilians in our clubhouse._ War is…filth, it taints everything. I didn’t want my family to know what it’s like, to be tainted with my baggage. I’m sure Sna…Merriell feels the same way about it.”

She considered this. Eugene could see her biting her lip in thought. She probably understood what he meant, but he knew she was a mother, she was worried, there was no stopping her.

She asked: “What kind of nickname is _Snafu?_ ”

“It’s, ah…oh dear.” Eugene let out an awkward little laugh. “It’s military slang, ma’am, and I really don’t want to go into details.”

“Please, I know I’m pro’ly annoyin’…”

“Ma’am…”

“But I want to understand my son, Eugene. You don’ need to spare me of anything. I know he’s changed: the night he came home, he sent the girls to bed, an’ then he dumped an entire sack of human gold teeth right onto my kitchen table. Looked me dead in the eye an’ said: We’re rich, mother. Dunno how many li'l teeth there were. Some of ‘em were caked in blood. Gives me the creeps, jus’ thinkin’ ‘bout it.”

“If you thought you’d shock me, ma’am, I’m sorry. I saw where he got those teeth _from_ ” Eugene said, not sparing her, like she had said. “So what did you do about ‘em?”

“Told ‘im to toss ‘em out. Don’ think he listened. He shouldn’t’a done it. We’re not rich, but we’re not _that_ poor, either.” She sighed. “Lord knows he never had it easy, but…he used to have such a love for livin’. Used to live with such abandon. Now…”

“Maman” Sledge said. “If you want me to tell you that your son did horrible things in the war, fine: your son did horrible things in the war. We all did. But he also saved my life more times than I cared to count. And, I’ll be honest with you now, you’re not getting _before_ back. Ever.”

“Of course” she said. “I won’t stop lovin’ my boy because he been to a war.”

“Good. That’s good” Eugene blurted out. “I’m glad he’s looked after.”

There was a moment of silence. “Is that why you’s here, Eugene?” maman then asked. “To make sure he’s looked after?”

“No” Eugene said. “It’s because…” _Because I’ve got no one else to go to. Because he’ll understand…because he’ll strip his sleeve and show his scars… because of a song in French by moonlight. Because I love him._

It was a quiet truth to admit to, like it had been sleeping in his mind for a long, long time, to now wake up, stretch and announce its presence. He knew objectively that he should be shocked with himself, that he should be thinking in terms of right and wrong and sin and what-will-people-say. But it didn’t touch the truth in his mind, plain as a bleak winter morning: he loved Snafu. Would never love anyone else the way he loved Snafu. It was just how things were, how things had been since, oh, maybe Peleliu, maybe Okinawa, he didn’t quite know when exactly it had happened.

But it was not something you admitted to a guy’s mother, especially without telling said guy first, so Eugene said: “Because he looked out for me over there.”

“You want him to be strong fo’ you?” maman asked.

“No…no. I just wanted to…to see how he’s doing. I’m not planning on intruding into your lives or anything. I won’t stay…”

“Yes, you will, as long as you like” maman said, unwavering. “He’s not talked much, but as I said…he couldn’ stop runnin’ his mouth ‘bout you."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ayyy, finally an update that didn't take an eternity!! In today's session we delve a bit into Snaf's PTSD, also the mystery of the French is solved. This is just to foreshadow, the rating will go up to M in the next few chapters!  
> Oh and thank-you-loads to everyone who left kudos and comments! I may not always reply, but I swear I read them and they make my entire week.

Now that Sledge knew he loved Snafu, things had changed.

He was hyperaware of the man now, at all times, everywhere. The days that followed the quiet realization of his feelings on the roof would later be remembered as snapshots of Snafu – his eyes, his smile, the feel of his skin when they accidentally brushed hands. Snafu giving little Ju-Marie piggyback rides and beaming with pride when Leelee came home from school and told them the music teacher had offered to teach her to play the violin and buying them both treats as soon as his wages came in. Snafu constantly tinkering away at something, fixing up this thing or that around the house of for the neighbors. Snafu helping his mother with the laundry and the cooking, nimble fingers and not a thought about what other fellas would deem “women’s work”. It was in these moments that he appeared, for all the world, a completely different man from the cynic war dog Sledge had met him as. It was in these moments that Eugene felt deeply privileged to be let into Merriell’s extremely private domestic life. He often thought how anyone else in K/3/5 would have trouble believing this, if he told them.

But there were also the other moments: Snafu stubbornly refusing to say grace at the dinner table, making his mother or Eugene do it every time, because he didn’t believe in thanking a god that had let the South Pacific happen for food that he, Merriell Francis Shelton, had worked for with his own bloody hands. The way he swore up a blue streak every Sunday when maman threw him out of bed to go to mass, and the way he squeezed Eugene’s arm for a second in the church, his features tense, eyes roving as if searching for snipers in the pews – or waiting for reckoning to strike him where he stood.

Then there was the time Eugene had been hanging around in the little back garden with a book and Leelee and Ju-Marie play-fighting somewhere about, and he’d suddenly had an armful of excited little girl. He had chuckled, picked them up and set them down while asking: “Do you always pounce on the unwary like that?”

And Leelee, far too mature for her age, had said: “Well, maman forbade us to jump at Merriell. Not after last time” and when he’d asked after last time, she had soberly replied that “well, last time he went all stiff and his eyes unfocused and he tried to stab us with a knife. Maman says it comes from fightin’ in the war.”

Later he had witnessed such an episode himself, when Snafu had cut himself on a kitchen knife while preparing dinner, had suddenly frozen up staring at his bloodied hands, his eyes growing wide and empty. As his mother had tried, very carefully, to take the knife from him, he had stared at her as if she was a stranger, refusing to give up his only weapon, snarling and hissing about Japs. It had taken Eugene to quietly talk him down for a few minutes until he’d gradually come back from the ghastly place he’d been, started sputtering apologies before abruptly leaving the room, maybe for a smoke, maybe for some solitude to collapse in. That night, Eugene had found him crying into his mother’s shoulder, repeating a mantra of “I’m sorry, I’m sorry” in between sobs. He had entered the room, nodded at Mrs. Shelton and held Snafu’s hand in silence, because he knew what it was like.

Snafu repaid him in full, turning up in his bedroom with a smirk, an extra pillow and wide, nocturnal eyes whenever his nightmares had him waking up screaming, and they never mentioned it during the day. For some reason, the presence of another warm body next to him – of another marine, nonetheless – turned out to be a surefire remedy for most night terrors. The bad dreams became less frequent, and he lost less sleep over them, and even if he woke up from his nocturnal journeys back to the South Pacific drenched in sweat and disoriented, Snafu was there to ground him, tell him he was not back there, that they would never go back there. And when maman found them some mornings sharing a bed, more entangled than they had any business being, she smiled knowingly and never brought it up. There was nothing shameful in these silences, Eugene found. It was as if the house had a live-and-let-live policy, things slid their way like the lazy waters of the swamp outside, and that was very…calming. If he were to admit his love to Snafu tomorrow, Eugene thought, maybe his family wouldn’t even mind.

But _maybe_ wasn’t quite safe enough, not for something so new, so strange. Most of the time he thought he could be happy just remaining like this, with Snafu by his side, in tranquility. Sometimes, though, he thought very much otherwise, found the tranquility disturbed by strange new wants. They would be smoking on the porch while watching the sun set, Snafu still with that faint smell of freshly beaten wood to him and, sometimes, pieces of sawdust caught in his curls waiting to be brushed out. These were the moments when it was the hardest for Eugene to keep his hands from touching, where he had to clench them in his lap and occupy his mouth with his pipe, because else it would just open and spill out all his feelings right into Merriell’s face. _Merriell_ – Eugene practiced calling him that in his mind, practiced saying Merriell and not thinking Snafu, because that part of their lives was supposed to be over. Sometimes, it almost worked. One night, he had written it into his notebook to remind himself: _His name is Merriell, and that’s the right name for him, because his eyes_ _are like the sea._ He wrote more often, now. Sometimes he asked himself if Merriell knew what he was doing to him.

Then it occurred to him that he definitely did not know.

 

It was about two weeks into his stay that Snafu started speaking French to him again.

 

It was after dinner, and Eugene had volunteered to do the dishes. The girls had scampered off to somewhere, maman was outside taking laundry off the clothesline, and Snafu, well, he was lounging at the kitchen table, blowing a lazy cloud of smoke in Eugene’s direction.

“You know your ma will tan your hide if she catches you smoking inside.”

Snafu hummed carelessly, and then spouted a sentence in that strange tongue that was French and not French. The words slurred, smushed together, just like the way Snafu spoke English, too. But maybe, maybe if he concentrated he could…

_“…looking good, Eugene.”_

“Wait, what was that?” he asked aloud, cursing himself for it almost simultaneously, because he hadn’t yet told Snafu that he technically spoke a bit of French now, that he, in theory, should be able to understand.

Snafu merely smiled sardonically and repeated what he had said, slower. Eugene turned his back, staring at the dishes in the sink, mobilizing every last bit and piece of knowledge from the classes he’d been taking.

_“I said, you’re looking fucking gorgeous like that, Eugene.”_

Somehow he must have still misheard something there. It was the only explanation. It was so easy to misunderstand. Especially if you wish—

_“You know the sun’s on your hair where you’re standing?”_

What now?!

_“Yep. Big ol’ sunbeam comin’ through the window hitting your hair. You look like your head caught fire.”_ A chuckle was heard. _“It’s beautiful.”_

Eugene rubbed the back of his neck which, he was sure, was turning faintly pink. Dammit, don’t let him see, don’t let—

_“Never thought I’d end up wanting to fuck a ginger.”_

Eugene’s mind was short-circuiting. _What. What. What?!_

He felt a great frustration then, with Snafu, with himself, with the situation as a whole, and dropped his dishrag into the sink.

“Why don’t you help me out a bit, huh? Instead of sitting there talking…nonsense.”

“Aaah, _mais non_ ” Snafu said simply and sauntered out of the room, because maman was just entering through the back door and would be here in a minute asking where the stench of cigarettes was coming from. Eugene sighed.

 

It only got worse from there, and Eugene thanked god for his foresight that had made him acquire an arsenal of French expletives and vaguely sexual phrases because Snafu used them, often. During the third week Snafu forayed from mildly suggestive compliments into heavily suggestive accounts of what he wished to do with Eugene.

_“I like your hands, Gene. I want them on my ass.”_

_“Wonder what you’d look like bent over the kitchen counter.”_

_“Shut your mouth already. God, what I wouldn’ give to come into that mouth. Jus’ once.”_

_“Wonder if you’re loud in bed. Hah, you’ve no idea either, you’re a fuckin’ virgin. Lord, Gene, if you’d lemme pop that cherry fo’ ya, dammit, I would.”_

_“Hey, Gene, you got red hair down there? ‘Cuz I wanna find out.”_

_“I wanna fuck you against every wall of this goddamn house.”_

There was one memorable occurrence when Snafu earned another motherly slap along the ear when he started: _“Is it weird that I think about eating whipped cream off your n—"_ only for maman to interrupt, still in French, with _“Merriell! Keep your evil_ _tongue in check! Eugene doesn’t want to hear that filth.”_ When Snafu whined and protested that _“Eugene can’t even understand what I’m sayin’!”_ Eugene was sure maman would spare one glance at him and his reddening ears and see right through him, but she merely sighed and said: _“Well, I don’t wanna hear that filth either.”_

That filth did keep him up at night. It snuck into his dreams, dreams from which he’d wake up flustered with a half-hard cock and, if he was sharing the room with Snafu that night, to a heavy-lidded gaze pointed at the tent in the blanket. So Eugene lay awake at night trying to remember if Snafu had been doing this during the war, too, if his words then had carried the same meaning they did now. Arrived at the conclusion that yes, probably they had. Couldn’t wrap his head around the why, _whywhy_. If Snafu simply wanted to unnerve him, was playing a game of startle-the-virgin, he could have more effectively done that in English. Maybe it was just a bit of harmless fun on his part, a slightly immature “Ha-ha, I can say dirty things to you and you don’t understand them” sort of thing, that came with the satisfaction of Snafu finally knowing something that Eugene didn’t, education-wise. Or maybe Snafu did have ulterior motives, maybe he really wanted to…to do all these things he said he wanted to do. Maybe it went even further, maybe Eugene’s feelings…were…were reciprocated… At this point he abruptly broke off his train of thought and buried his madly flushing face in the pillow.

Oh Lord. He was in over his head.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're meeting another member of Snafu's happy family, and things are starting to get weird.

They were out on the swampy waters in something Snafu called a _pirogue_ , which looked, to Eugene, like a regular boat, but he didn’t say anything. He was lying comfortably in the back, while Snafu rowed, and under these circumstances he wasn’t one to complain. He took a notebook from his back pocket and started scribbling. After the war he had gotten himself a brand-new leather-bound notebook, since his old one had been literally falling apart.

“Still writing, huh?” Snafu asked.

“I thought I could write a book. About, you know…about the war.”

“Heavy stuff to write ‘bout. Read me something?”

“Um, I’d rather…not. Maybe later. It’s all unfinished now.”

“Aww, c’mon, Gene, lemme just see it.”

“No! Get your hands off there!”

But Snafu had already grabbed the notebook and started reading out: “ _War is brutish, inglorious, and a terrible waste. Combat leaves an indelible mark on those who are forced to endure it. The only redeeming factors were my comrades’ incredible bravery and their devotion to each other. Marine Corps training taught us to kill efficiently and to try to survive. But it also taught us loyalty to each other—and love. That esprit de corps sustained us._ ” The elegant words Sledge had tried to find sounded strange in Snafu’s broad accent. Also he had pronounced “indelible” like he’d never heard the word before, which he probably really hadn’t.

“So…what do you think?”

“We go to the same war, yeah? Because I don’ remember you findin’ love an’ shit.”

“Oh, but I did.”

“Oh, but you did?” Snafu mocked him.

“Yes” Eugene said simply and looked into the murky green waters. “There’s another thing you should know, Snaf.”

“Yeah?”

He steeled himself and said it. “I understand French.”

He didn’t dare look at Snafu, kept to trailing his fingers through the water instead. He heard Snafu sucking in a sharp breath over in his side of the boat, but other than that there was silence. Then, there was a subtle shift of weight, and Snafu’s fingers gripping his wrist.“Get that hand outta the water, Sledgehamma” he said. “Wouldn’ want them gators to snap atcha.”

And that seemed to be it. That was all the reaction Eugene got, and dammit if that didn’t make him antsy. But a part of him was relieved, too, that _Snafu_ hadn’t snapped at him, that nothing had broken this comfortable silence between them that felt so much like home. Some days he believed he could live in this little bubble forever, hiding out with Snafu in the swamp, going about their lives side by side like this. Maybe their relationship just didn’t need defining.

* * *

 

The bubble was popped the morning after this occurrence, with an announcement from maman at the breakfast table.

“Merriell” she began sternly.

“What’d I do?” Snafu asked, reaching for his coffee.

“I been over at grandmère’s” maman said.

“Mh-hmm” Snafu replied very carefully around a mouthful of hot coffee.

“She said you ain’t been over to visit the whole time you been back.” When Snafu didn’t reply to that, maman went on to say: “An’ I think you should go. In fact, today. And take your sister.”

For a second, Snafu looked like he was unsure whether to spit out or swallow his mouthful of coffee. He decided in favor of swallowing, then asked: “Which one?”

“Ju-Marie, she likes the old lady. Always goin’ over there an’ listening to her stories.”

Snafu set his cup down and asked: “And you let her, mother?”

Eugene noted that his accent had gone, which usually only ever happened when Snafu yelled. In a war zone. Under heavy shelling.

Maman shrugged. “She enjoys it. And she’s learnin’.”

“Learning, what? You damn well know what grandmère gets up to. And you don’t like it any more than I do. So how the fuck is it that your ten-year-old daughter—“

“Merriell” maman said. Nothing else. Just _Merriell_ in that pointed way that had Snafu, grown man and veteran of three major battles, sit right down and shut his mouth.

He muttered curses under his breath, and proclaimed that he still didn’t like it as soon as his mother was out of earshot, but he did take his sister out on the boat after work…and Eugene, too. The latter didn’t really know why he had come with – he’d just gotten that gut feeling that Snafu needed a friend here.

“So, what’s the deal with your grandmother?” he asked.

Snafu, who was steering them through the swamp again, gave a derisive snort. His back was turned to Eugene but he could see the tension in him.

“What’s that stuff she ‘gets up to’?” he pursued. “Kamikaze teacake baking? Showing people your baby pictures? Extreme--?”

“Witchcraft” Snafu said curtly.

_“What?!_ ”

“Grandma practices _voudoun_ ” little Ju-Marie piped up.

“Is that…?”

“Exactly what you think it is” Snafu said. “She’s probably gon’ try an’ sell you some of her gris-gris. Jus’ keep your mouth shut an’ see it through. Is what I do.”

“But the things she tells me are true!” Marie protested.

“Says who?” Snafu countered, rather childishly for his twenty-three years.

“Guys! Please” Eugene tried to silence them. Oddly, they really did silence. Huh. “So, you have a voodoo grandma. Good to know. And your mother…?”

He didn’t even get to finish the question as Snafu interrupted him with a short, sarcastic laugh. “Hell nah. Maman’s more cath’lic than Christ.”

“Well, since Jesus was a Jew, I suppose that’s entirely possible” Eugene mused.

“Ah, whatever, what do I know” Snafu replied. “It’s just that...grandmère is actually my great-grandma, an’ I guess maman has a sort of respect for her. She’s…I dunno how old. No one knows that. Some say… but that’s stupid.”

“Some say she’s been here as long as the swamp or the trees or the alligators been here” Marie took over for her suddenly tongue-tied brother. “And that she will be here for just as long. People come to her, asking her things.”

“She tells fortunes?” Eugene asked, mainly to humor the little girl.

“Yes, that, and she heals people too, frees them from bad spells and curses, she makes tokens that bring good luck…although she can’t move her hands too well now, and she doesn’t see as good, so she mainly tells me how to make things for her, now.”

“You see this shit, Eugene?” Snafu asked. “There I go away to war for a few fucking months, an’ when I come back what do I find? That ol’ swamp witch makin’ my littlest sister into a _voodooienne_.” He spat the word into the dark waters like a curse.

“And, um…so, uh…that’s the lady we’re about to visit.”

“Yeah. She lives deep within the swamp. Oh, an’ she only ever speaks French…good luck understanding hers.”

* * *

 

Grandmère’s house was tiny, smaller than Snafu’s childhood home, and it was indeed smack dab in the middle of the swamp, on stilts. Walls, floor and roof were all made of wood, the latter thickly covered in moss. There was a boat just like the one they were in tied to one of the stilts, and next to it a rope ladder dangling down from the wooden front porch.

“How does a frail old lady get around here?” Eugene wondered.

“Determination” Snafu said. “But she doesn’t get out much, so…most a’ the time, we’re safe.”

As they climbed the ladder, Eugene was stuck wondering whether that had been a joke.

He was the last one to step onto the porch, Snafu having gone first to help his sister up. Almost immediately, a movement caught his eye and made him glance at the front door, which had some kind of sigil painted over it – and next to it, on a string from the roof a quaint little puppet dangled in the soft breeze. It was made up of what looked like a hundred little twigs braided together, fastened by long dry reeds and more string. It hadn’t a needle staked through its heart, but to Eugene it certainly looked eerie.

“You didn’t lie about the hoodoo” he said. “What’s this for?”

“An idol, for protection” little Marie chirped at the same time her brother said: “It’s a useless thing, for to intimidate people.”

“Ah” Eugene said, reaching out to give the thing a curious prod.

Snafu roughly grabbed his arm and yanked it back. “Don’t _touch_ it, Jesus” he hissed.

Eugene cocked an eyebrow. “No knowing what might happen?”

“Fuck off. It’s jus’ rude.”

“Towards the eldritch gods?”

“There’s no gods” Snafu muttered and raised his fist to knock on the door.

“What’s that sign above the door?” Eugene asked.

“Good luck” Snafu said, half-turning. “Like puttin’ up a horseshoe.”

_For someone who doesn’t know about this stuff, you sure know a lot about this stuff_ , Eugene thought. But he didn’t voice his thoughts, as Snafu turned around and whispered: “Cover me.”

_Yes, sir._ Eugene could only just keep the words from sliding off his tongue. The transition had been smooth, like a switch in his brain had been flicked, taking him into full-on war mode, just from Snafu’s words and expression and stance.

Instead, he said: “You okay, Snaf?”

“Yeah, fine. Just be at my six.”

Eugene wished he could see Snafu’s eyes, check if he was fully _here_ , but Snafu had turned again, had knocked on the door and was walking inside, and Eugene followed, kept at his six. As per fucking orders.

The inside of the house was dingy due to the small windows, a reddish flickering light illuminating the room from an oven tucked into a corner. Eugene had to strain his eyes to see much at all. There were…things hanging from the ceiling. Herbs? He hoped they were herbs. The air was heavy with the smell of spices, incense and a familiar note that calmed Eugene somewhat: pipe tobacco, much like his own.

As his sight adjusted to the glum light, he also spotted the old woman in a rocking chair towards the far wall of the room. Snafu brushed some ceiling things out of his sight and stiffly addressed her: “Grandmère.”

“Merriell.”

The voodoo grandma was an incredibly old woman hunched over the walking stick in her hands. She was wearing a long dress the style of which had gone out of fashion decades ago, a plaid tippet scarf and, to crown the ensemble, a straw hat. She wasn’t looking very witchy. Just your standard Louisiana Cajun granny, with a generous helping of Creole blood in her veins, by the looks of it. It explained some things.

She beckoned Snafu to come closer, probably saying something about how long it had been since he’d last come over, but again Eugene was in the dark here. He could just about translate Snafu’s French into English, but with grandmère’s, he was lost.

With obvious dread, Snafu let her take his hands and run the pad of her calloused thumb over his knuckles. She watched his face for a very long moment. Then she said something else and Sledge could practically feel the dread radiating from Snafu increase by the second. If she was wondering about what Eugene was doing here, he had no way of telling. He also became aware of the small presence of Judith-Marie by his side. She tugged at his hand to get his attention, and as she had it she whispered: “I can translate if you wanna.”

“Thanks” Eugene whispered back.

“She just said: _It’s been a long time. Now here you are. You bring a w_ a _r in your head with you, and now you're bringing it to my house_.”

Well, wasn’t that frank. Eugene didn’t pretend to have understood a word of it, but he did get the message when Snafu replied: _“If it bothers you, I can well leave.”_

Grandmère clicked her tongue but, according to Marie, she didn’t proceed to berate her grandson. Instead, she said: “ _I can help you with healin’ that. That what you here for?”_ Snafu tried to get a word in edgewise, but she just continued: “ _I cannot chase the war from your head – no mambo strong enough to do that. But I can give you help to chase it – spells and potions. Some peace of mind, some warmth of heart_ _– and other parts, eh? – some_ _undisturbed…sleep.”_ Had she just looked in Eugene’s direction? Snafu didn’t have problems sleeping. That was Eugene. Now Eugene did not believe in witchcraft…but this had gotten real creepy real fast.

_“I’m good, thanks”_ Snafu said, stepping back.

She gave him a short, precise jab in the chest, and said something to which Marie muttered: “Oh. That’s…something to say.”

“Hmm?”

“Grammy says the Baron has given Merriell protection during the war by reshaping him in his image.”

“Who is the baron? Some local—?”

“She means _Baron Samedi_. The _Loa_.”

“The what?”

_“I don’t believe that shit”_ Snafu said loudly, still in French. His grandma pinched his cheek and uttered one single word.

“She said ‘naysayer’” Sledge’s little interpreter whispered. “Oh, and now she’s saying that Merriell’s always been a naysayer.”

“This ain’t worth my time” Snafu said harshly. “Sorry, gramma, I’ve got stuff to do, c’mon guys let’s _leave_.” Without looking at anyone, he turned and strode out of the room.

“Umm” Eugene said, not sure if to follow. His Proper Southern Manners made him consider staying and apologizing to the old lady for Snafu. “Marie? Can you please…can you maybe tell your nan I’m very sorry that he’s acting like this, he’s just been…having a rough time lately? And of course we’ll come back for another, nicer visit when things have…settled?” Marie translated as he spoke. _Must be amazing,_ Eugene thought, _to grow up bilingual_.

Grandmère seemed to like this, as she said some words to Marie which prompted her to go after her brother, leaving Eugene alone.

As soon as Marie had left, the voodoo grandma waved for Sledge to come closer. She gripped his chin tight and examined his face. For such an old woman, she had quite the vice grip on her.

“Ah, yes” she said. “I see. You’re a good boy.”

“They said you don’t speak English” Sledge said.

“ _Mais_ , I don’ speak it ‘round dem lil sproggets. Does dem good to practice their French, don’ forget their ‘eritage. But to you I got somethin’ ta say.” How could he ever have thought Snafu’s accent was bad? Compared to the broken English of his grandma, Snafu spoke like the bloody Queen of England.

“Alright, ma’am?” Eugene said. The old woman’s hand moved from his face down to his hands. He didn’t believe in palm reading, regarded it superstitious nonsense, but the way her rough thumb brushed over not only his palm, but his knuckles, his fingers…he was sure she could read not the future, but the past in his hands, knew how they had handled the carbine, the mortar launcher, knew the scars the war had left, and how the skin over the knuckles of his right hand was still a bit raw where it had, some odd weeks ago, collided with her great-grandson’s face.

“Yes, yes” she whispered. “As I thought. A man of war like Merriell, but better than ‘im.”

“I’m not any better than Merriell” he protested. Although he knew, objectively, that was a bit of a lie. Snafu was the meanest sonofabitch he’d ever met, and would happily agree to that assessment. Still.

“It does my ‘eart good t’ ‘ear tha’” grandmère said, her lips drawing upwards in a smile. “I’ve seen ‘ow Merriell looks at you, you know.”

“What? How does he…look at me?”

“Like you’re his anchor” the old woman whispered dramatically. “Like without you he’d be adrift. Like you’re a star what’s guiding him, but if he so much as dares touching you, he gonna burn.”

“No…really?”

“An’ you know what’s de tragic thing?”

Eugene made his most valiant effort not to sigh. Somehow, Snafu’s grandma had something in the way she talked that riled you up, just like her grandson. “What is the tragic thing?”

“ _Mais_ , de stupid boy is never gon’ make a move if you don’ make a move first. ‘E’s too afraid of burnin’.”

She smirked. Eugene felt a sudden flare of irritation at the old baggage. Yes, it was really obvious that she and Snafu were related, even if the latter didn’t like to hear it. They got their nose into your business, only to leave you with a “witty” innuendo that didn’t even make sense.

“And what do you want me to do about it, ma’am?” Eugene asked. This mostly silenced Snafu, so maybe it would work with grandmère too. He kept the bite out of his voice, though.

But grandmère was not easily silenced. She held out her other hand, a small vial filled with an amber-colored oily liquid lying in the palm. “Take this” she said, her smirk growing. She had exactly three teeth. “Two or three drops of it in his dinner, oughta spice things up a little.”

Sledge took the vial and eyed it dubiously. “Ma’am, you’re not trying to get me to poison your great-grandson, are you?”

She gave a dry laugh. “Oooh, _cher_ gotta sense of humor hidden in there? Good. You’ll need it.”

“But what exactly does this stuff do?” Sledge persisted.

“Boy, if you weren’t born yesterday, you know exactly what it does.” Grandmère patted his hand. “And even if not…may Maitre Carrefour light your way.”

* * *

 

“So, what did the ol’ witch say?” Snafu asked later, as they were making their way home through the swamp. Eugene had slipped the tiny vial into his pocket, now clutched it in his hand.

“Nothing much. Who is Maitre Carrefour? And Baron Samedi?”

Snafu spat into the water. “Don’ think on it. Jus’ some o’ grandma’s swamp spirits.”

“They’re not swamp spirits!” little Marie protested. “They’re _Loa_!”

“As I said, swamp spirits” Snafu persisted. “The ol’ baggage has too much of an ‘fluence on ya, boo.”

“How come you hate your grandmother, Snaf?” Sledge asked.

“Fuck off, Eugene.”

Marie, who was seated next to him, now slipped her hand into Eugene’s. “Merriell doesn’t hate grammy” she said quietly. “He just hates _voudoun_. It scares him.”

“I ain’t _scared_ ” Snafu objected. “I ain’t scared of no thing.”

* * *

 

That night, Eugene hid the little vial in his bag underneath some shirts, but he lay awake for a long time thinking on it. When he did fall asleep, he dreamed, but for the first time in ages, the dream was not about the war.

In the dream, he was standing in the swamp, not on a boat or anything, just standing waist-deep in murky water. He looked up, and across from him he saw Snafu in the same position. Snafu was wearing his Dress Blues – which Eugene, in real life, had never seen him do – and the water was probably absolutely ruining them, but he didn’t look like he cared. In fact there was a wide smile on his face, a real smile, a genuinely happy one. His grandmother was standing between them so that they formed a triangle. She wasn’t exactly standing, though. She was kind of floating, her feet some odd inches above the water’s surface, which didn’t seem to disturb anybody. In fact, it only made Eugene mildly annoyed that he couldn’t float, too. But no, he and Snafu had to stand up to their waists in dark, slopping water, getting their best clothes ruined. But oh well. The sun was shining. It was warm. This was a special occasion.

“What the gods have made, man cannot destroy” the voodoo grandma announced.

Eugene looked back to the shore. Maman was standing there with the girls, and, oddly, Eugene’s parents too. His mother smiled at him, radiant, and dabbed at her eyes with a lacy handkerchief. Eugene looked back at Snafu. Snafu took his hand, and slipped a ring onto his finger, and Eugene thought: _I’m marrying Snafu. I’m marrying Snafu in a swamp in_ _a ceremony to the voodoo gods._ _My mother is here and seems to approve of this._

_This is a dream._

_Will I get to kiss him before I wake up?_

Snafu leaned in. Eugene could smell him. He smelled of cigarettes, a dab of cologne to honor the occasion, and himself. Eugene leaned in. Eugene woke up.

“Dammit” he muttered.

Snafu, actual Snafu, moved on the other side of the bed and woke up. As always, he shifted from fast asleep to fully alert within a second. Eugene wondered if that was a thing from the war, or if he’d always done that.

“Morning” he said.

“Hey” Snafu replied. “Another nightmare?”

“No…just a weird dream.”

“About?”

Eugene prayed to every deity there was that he wasn’t blushing. “The swamp” he answered.

Snafu grinned. “Ah, that’s good luck.”

Eugene hoped so. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some terminology: (leave a comment if things are still unclear)  
> voudoun: exactly what you think it is  
> voodooienne: a woman practicing voodoo, "voodoo priestess"  
> mambo: can be used interchangeably with "voodooienne" as far as I know, but then again I'm as white as wonder bread and get my information from the internet so what the hell do I actually know  
> Loa: the gods/spirits invoked by voodoo rituals, there's a load of them  
> Baron Samedi: one such Loa. Known to collect the souls of the deceased. A kind of...death-and-sex-god, also, interestingly, can be portrayed as bisexual. Ironically, even though I'd imagine Snafu to be one of the last persons to worship voodoo gods, he turned up dressed as him in chapter 2.  
> Maitre Carrefour: another Loa, "Master Crossroads". It's complicated. Helps those who are lost, among other things.  
> a pirogue, to me, is really just a boat  
> That's, off the bat, all i can think of. Thanks to everyone who left kudos!!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Eugene was in a bit of a moral dilemma"  
> That's it, that's the chapter  
> Partial credit goes to SidoniVilleduval, because I kinda bastardized her headcanon about pre-war Snaf helping his mother with the midwifing. She's written an awesome fic about it, check it out:  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/4116991  
> (sorry idk how to make a proper link yet because I fail at life in general)

Eugene was in a bit of a moral dilemma.

Of course it was all about Snafu’s grandma and her vial of questionable content. And of course he was not – _decidedly_ not – about to heed her advice and use it. There was no knowing what the stuff was for, after all. The possibilities were endless. Grandmère had said it served to “spice things up”, but that could mean literally anything. Maybe the old lady really had hatched up some sinister plan. Maybe the whole thing could be chalked up to senility. Either way the risks of testing this stuff were manifold. Eugene absolutely couldn’t guess what the effects were. Maybe it killed you dead on the spot. Maybe it turned you into a lizard, made you grow cat ears, or let vicious voodoo spirits into your body. Most likely it did nothing at all, except for maybe causing stomach cramps or an irritating rash.

Either way, trying it out on a person Eugene considered his best friend was _not_ a thing to do.

So why on earth was he tempted?

Because grandmère was right: they were stuck. Eugene’s meek attempts at conveying his feelings had been either misunderstood or blocked, and they were getting nowhere. This relationship needed a kick in the butt, and grandmère and her magic potion had promised to provide just this. But even if this was, say, a magic love potion that really worked, was that what he wanted? Feelings brought about by hoodoo? A relationship invoked by almost-violent means, without Snafu getting a say? The very thought was revolting.

Yet somehow Eugene found himself keeping the tiny bottle close, toying with it, admiring the rich golden sheen of the liquid when it caught the light. Could something that looked this healthfully pretty really be a foul concoction? Well, everything Eugene knew about biology (which was quite a lot, it having been his hobby horse pretty much since adolescence) screamed yes, because if you looked at nature (and wasn’t voodoo a sort of nature cult?) _pretty_ equaled _poison_ more often than not.

_“For internal and external use”_ grandmère had written on the bottle in a spidery scrawl. And what on earth was that supposed to mean? He could almost hear the old lady say it in her creaking old-lady-voice, accompanied by a suggestive wink.

But he needed something to happen. He’d been here a while now, and didn’t know how much longer he could remain this way without overstaying his welcome. He was nearing his wits’ end.

 

* * *

 

 

 

Today was a Sunday and also the one-month anniversary of Eugene arriving in the Shelton household and – although no one said it, it was a truth so big it filled the air between them – unofficially joining the family. No matter what that thing was between him and Snafu, and no matter how much maman knew or thought of it, Eugene was practically the second son. The occasion called for something celebratory, or at least so maman thought. Hence why the day’s center of attention had been, besides Eugene himself, the special gumbo she was making for dinner. Merriell, of course, was helping, and Eugene was keeping him company, and the girls came and went, snatching a spoonful of this or that and just watching, because the special gumbo was something that was rarely made, and they were seizing the opportunity to learn.

However, at some point late into the afternoon, a harsh knock at the door interrupted all cooking activities, and Mrs. Shelton glanced at everyone. “You waitin’ on anybody?”

Everyone nodded no.

“Alright then” maman said and went to check the front door.

Outside was a middle-aged black woman, seemingly in a state of distress, and out of breath as if she’d been running all the way here. “Serafine, please” was the first thing she gasped.

Maman took her by the shoulders in her firm and reassuring grip. “Margo, what’s happened?”

“It’s my Lana…the baby…”

“Is’t coming?”

“Yes!”

“That’s a whole week too early…” maman mused. “But we’ll make do. Run back home an’ prep her, I’ll follow.”

Maman turned back to her assembled children (plus Eugene) in the kitchen. “Kids, it’s Mrs. Westley’s Lana, her baby’s comin’ early. I need you to watch dinner here ‘till I come back.”

Snafu stood up. “Maman, should I come with?”

Maman gave that a second’s hesitation, then said: “No. Not ‘ny more. Get your sister, she’s old enough to learn.”

“But—"

“I’ll go get my kit ready” maman cut him off, and added _“Do as I say”_ in such a sharp tone that Snafu snapped into parade rest for a second before he noticed, unfroze and went away, shaking his head about himself. He returned about two minutes later with Leelee, who looked nervous but collected as she trailed maman out the door.

Eugene was left with Snafu, little Judith-Marie and the bubbling pot on the stove.

“Fu-” Snafu started but then, with a look at his sister, finished “Dammit”, which was only marginally better. Eugene threw him a silent, questioning glance.

“Ya know” Snafu said, “I used to go an’ help her out with the birthin’. Before. But not no more. Maman thinks the… you know how there’s sometimes blood an’ sometimes when the baby’s not laid out right they gotta cut…”

“Yeah, that’s called C-section” Eugene replied. He’d never witnessed a birth before, but he’d heard things, what with his father being a doctor.

“Whatever it’s called, maman thinks I shouldn’t go an’ see it anymore. She thinks all the nasty stuff is gonna make for one o’ these… you’ve seen it. When I go back over to the war in my head for a stretch.”

“Oh. You mean the flashbacks.” Eugene observed Snafu: the way that talking about this seemed physically painful, like every word was a small knife being pulled out of a wound. Like admitting that he had problems, that he’d let the war faze him, that he wasn’t the strong impervious warrior to compliment Sledge’s sensibilities was a pain.

“My father told me some people experience shell-shock that way” Eugene continued and yes, as he had thought, Snafu flinched at the word. As if the issue wasn’t there as long as no one called it by its name. So Eugene just went on talking, waiting for his friend to crack. “He learned about it when he treated the fellas from the other Great War. You know, the one before ours. Helped me a great deal when I came back. He said the experience was different for every…”

“I fucking hate bein’ useless” Snafu cut him off.

Eugene thought _there we are._

“But you’re not” he said softly. “Snaf, you’re working nine-to-five to provide for your family. I wouldn’t exactly call that _useless_.”

“You know what I mean…”

“No, actually I don’t. Did you think you wouldn’t have problems? Did you think you could just return here and everything would be exactly like it was before? Pick up right where you’d left?”

“I didn’t think” Snafu muttered. “When I enlisted? I didn’t _think_. Did you?”

“Don’t know” Eugene admitted.

“Well, at least” Snafu went on, “At least we made it back here at all, and both in one piece. Shit, does it matter bein’ a little fucked in the head? Listen, I know a guy down the road who was with the Navy. Pacific, too. Got into one o’ these Jap prison camps. I tell you, the shit that guy has seen? His kid brother plays with my sisters. An’ he says the Japs cut this guy’s arms off – and ate ‘em.”

“No.”

“Swear on my life, that’s what I heard.”

“Bullshit. You’re full of it.”

“No, Sledgehamma, honest-to-fuck truth. You ask the guy. Well, you won’t get much outta him. That’s one motherfucker totally done for. Light’s just out up there. From what I heard, he just lies in bed all day, starin’ at the ceiling. His momma has to clean ‘im up and everything. That’s how you know someone’s got it real bad.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t discuss stuff like this in front of your ten-year-old sister” Eugene suggested.

They both looked down at Judith-Marie who, indeed, had grown a bit pale under her blonde locks. During the last fifteen minutes they had flat out forgotten she was sitting there with them. Sometimes this happened, sometimes they seemed to share their very own space that could encompass only the two of them and evaporated when other people entered the frame. This had been born in the war, had formed like a pearl within the seashell out of a thousand shared foxholes at night, a thousand companionable trudges through the knee-deep debris of humanity at its worst. Now yet again it disappeared, making room for the real world.

“Gonna go for a smoke” Snafu said standing up, and Eugene saw that he didn’t fancy his company, so he didn’t make a move to follow. He let five minutes pass before he said to Ju-Marie: “Why don’t you go out and talk to your brother?” He knew Snafu had had time enough to get through his first smoke, he should be lighting up his second around now. Whatever existential crisis was ailing him, he was probably now over it enough to be open for comforting by one of his little sisters, but not quite ready to be faced with Eugene. That was how well he knew the inner workings of Snafu’s mind, Eugene thought idly as the girl skipped towards the back door, and it was comforting to know that Snafu knew him just as well.

And just like that, his own conflicted thoughts came creeping back at Eugene.

Here he was, all alone with tonight’s dinner, and it would be the easiest thing to just slip around to the guest room, grab his little vial, come back here and…

_“Two or three drops of it in his dinner…”_ grandmere’s voice echoed in his head. _“Oughta spice things up a little.”_

With all the odd herbs and spices Snafu and his mother had dumped into the stew with reckless abandon, there was no way he’d ever notice.

But no, Eugene shook his head. It was an awful thing to do. Trickery, cheating, forcing. Disgusting to even think about. And besides, doing it now – if one were to do it at all, which he _wasn’t_ – would be stupid, that way everyone, including Eugene himself, would get a miniscule dose of the…whatever it was. And that was not the intended result. If Eugene were to do it – which was _not happening_ – he would – purely hypothetically – make it so that Snafu was the only one who got it.

And he should really stop _thinking_ about it.

 

* * *

 

 

When maman returned, it was already getting dark out, and she was the most visibly exhausted Eugene had ever seen her to date – midwifing was hard work. Snafu got a grip on things, fixed her a cup of tea and finished dinner. There was a soft anxiety about him when he asked: “Well, how’d it go?”

“A girl, mother an’ child both healthy.”

“Well, thank fuck” Snafu said. “They’ve had their scoop of fuckin’ tragedies. Mrs. Westley’s boy, Lana’s brother” he explained for Eugene, “He’s the guy I told you about. With the arms.”

“Don’t you rather mean the guy without the arms?” Eugene said dryly. It made Snafu laugh and his mother click her tongue, saying without words that this wasn’t a joking matter. Eugene shared a glance with Snafu because yes, it was. If it wasn’t a joking matter, it was a despairing matter, and despair got you killed, or caused your brain to snap which one way or another also got you killed. Introspection wasn’t desirable when matters of war were concerned.

Maman went off to talk to Leelee, who had retreated to her room to, as she’d said, finish her homework, which probably rather meant she needed some time to meditate upon the tremendous act she’d just helped do, bringing a new life into this world. That left Eugene and Snafu to set the table.

“I’ll do it” Eugene offered. “You go out, have a smoke, find Marie.” The youngest Shelton sister loved to play outside at the water’s edge, especially in the tadpole season. Apparently the things delighted her, and she had jam jars full of water swarming with the black wriggly dots.

Snafu took him up on the offer, which left Eugene, again, alone with the food.

He grabbed some bowls and filled them with a stew that probably had a bit of _just about everything_ in it. He carried them over to the table and set them down at everyone’s assigned seats. He saved Snafu’s for last.

Suddenly he found himself clutching grandmère’s vial. He hadn’t even been aware he’d carried it around in his pocket.

This was most likely the only chance he’d get at this bizarre endeavor.

His thumb worried at the wax seal that held the little bottle’s stopper in place.

Right here, right now, there was an entirely new war waging behind his eyes.

He breathed out hard and made a decision.

 

* * *

 

 

“Merriell, will you say grace?”

At this point maman didn’t even honestly expect him to do it anymore. She just asked because she asked every day.

“I’ll do it, maman” Eugene offered, ignoring the hardness in Snafu’s eyes and the stubborn hard line of his mouth. He folded his hands and thanked the lord for what they were about to eat with the words he remembered his own mother intone daily, at home in Alabama.

They passed dinner every day with companionable chatter. Mostly the girls went on about their school day, or Snafu had a rare family-friendly anecdote about the lumberyard, sometimes maman imparted some neighborhood gossip. It hadn’t surprised Eugene at all that Snafu soaked that up like a housewife; back in the marines he’d always been the best at working scuttlebutt. Gossip greased one’s way through community life. Eugene himself mostly took joy out of listening, though he never failed to praise maman’s cooking skills – to be perfectly honest, he had rarely eaten better than here.

Tonight Snafu was uncharacteristically quiet while he dug into dinner with the healthy appetite of someone who has learned to appreciate a free meal whenever it was offered. Eugene couldn’t help but side-eye him, especially as he asked his mother to be excused immediately after clearing his plate. She nodded permission for him to grab his smokes and go out, and raised a worried eyebrow at Eugene.

“Something the matter with him, d’you know?” she asked. “Lord knows, boy’s been moody all day.”

Eugene shrugged. “Should I go check with him?”

“Please do. Maybe it’s one of his…episodes. You’s best at dealing with those.”

Eugene went out on the front porch. It was dark, some mist was coming up from the swamp. For the first time in weeks he felt alienated by the landscape, stranger in a strange land.

“Merriell!” he called out into the dark, into the fog, not knowing why he was even doing it, using Snafu’s Christian name all of a sudden.

“Over here” Snafu responded. Eugene turned and spotted his silhouette leaning against the wall of the house, his cigarette tip an orange spark in the darkness.

Eugene walked over. “Hey…you alright?”

“Yeah. Sometimes I just…need a break. From…y’know.”He pointed his thumb at the house in general. Eugene nodded, understanding. He loved his family, but sometimes he needed a break from them too. It was one of the reasons why he was even here.

“I need to ask you something” he said.

“Yeah?”

“Your grandma. D’you think she is a real witch? Honestly.”

“Na-aah” Snafu said, drawing it out to convey that he was putting thought into it. “Folks round here are superstitious, rubs off on ya. But at the end of the day I know it’s all a load of hot air. Magic isn’t real.”

“How could she know I was having trouble sleeping? I never met her before.”

“Maman went ‘round to pay her a visit, remember? Might’ve mentioned it.”

“She gave me…this.” He threw Snafu the little vial. It was still full to the brim with oily liquid, the stopper sealed with wax as it had been when he’d received it.

Snafu caught it. “What’s that?”

“No idea. But she wanted me to spike your dinner with it.”

Snafu shook his head. “See, this is why I don’t trust the old witch. She can worship her fuckin’ swamp gods all she bloody wants, but gettin’ into other people’s business then pulling shit like that…it’s fucking creepy.”

Eugene didn’t even comment on the fact that Snafu was one to talk about _fucking creepy._ “It’s just an awful thing to do” he said. “Especially to your friends.”

Snafu raised his brows, a little smile curling the corners of his mouth. “You weren’t thinking about _doin’_ it, right?”

“Of _course_ not.”

“Hmmm” Snafu hummed and popped the vial open, breaking the seal. “No idea what that stuff is? Smells nice” he said, sniffing it.

“No idea whatsoever” Eugene replied. “But I guess it’s a…tonic of some sort.”

“Right.” Snafu had caught a drop of it on the tip of his pointer finger, examined it critically and then, instead of wiping it on his pants, he licked it off. “Tastes nice, too.”

“You probably shouldn’t lick this. She said two or three drops were already potent enough to make…something happen.”

“Yeah?” Snafu grinned. “You believe that shit?” Carefully, he poured another few drops on his palm and licked those off too. For a long, breathless moment they just stared at each other.

“Fuckin’ nothin’” Snafu said and barked a short laugh. Eugene chimed in, relieved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You might think now: well, that was anticlimatic. huh? I can see you thinking it.   
> ...Just you wait.  
> And yes, cannibalism was indeed practiced in Japanese prison camps, as far as the wikipedia page on Japanese war atrocities is concerned. So Snafu might not be so far off here.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry mom, sorry god  
> Q-slur is used two times. Also pretty NSFW content which you might also be concerned about. If you don't like that sorta thing, just skip this chapter, you'll miss hardly any plot tbh

It was well into the night when he heard a sound at his door, not a knock, but a _scratching_.

Eugene had spent the last few hours with a book. He wasn’t really very tired, but had been contemplating going to bed, but now, this _scratching_. Someone – or something? – was gently scraping their fingernails – its claws? – over the wood of the door.

“Who’s there?” Eugene asked.

“Sledgehamma” a breathy voice whispered. Ah, Snafu. No danger in that.

“What is it, Snaf?”

“Sledgehamma, I need you.”

Maybe it was just the door obscuring the sound, but his voice sounded…off. And _I need you?_ It alerted Eugene. Maybe it was one of Snafu’s…episodes and he’d sought out Eugene to help him through it.

“Alright” he said. “Here. I’m opening the door now, slowly.”

“Slowly” turned out to be superfluous, because as soon as Eugene had unlocked the door and turned the handle, Snafu was inside and crowding into his space. He didn’t have time to assess the situation or his mental state before Snafu grabbed him by the front of his shirt and smashed their lips together. The kiss that ensued was sloppy and strange, driven mainly by the force of Snafu’s lips, while Eugene made some meek attempts at shoving him off. He didn’t manage much because dammit, this was what he wanted and Snafu’s lips were amazing. Soft and plump, he wanted to nibble at them, but didn’t really dare because what were the lines here? What even was this situation?

Then Snafu got off, inched back a little. His pupils were blown impossibly wide, his eyes a bit glassy, looking drunk. “Eugene” he whispered breathlessly.

“What the—where did that come from?”

“I think…” Snafu gasped, tried speaking and planting wet little kisses along Eugene’s jawline at the same time. He was all up in Eugene’s space again. “Think I’m a bit out of it” he muttered, licked at Eugene’s earlobe a second later. The way he moved against Eugene wasn’t so much a focused effort but a constant, gentle swaying; Eugene put an end to it by wrapping an arm around his waist, keeping him there.

“But why…?”

“Guess I shouldn’t have licked that stuff” Snafu explained, a slight pant to his voice. “Guess does work after all.”

“The stuff in the vial? From your grandma?” Eugene’s eyes darted over to where he’d set down the vial on his dresser. “That was, what, an aphrodisiac? Oh lord…”

Snafu didn’t reply, distracted by his own effort to sneak his hands into Eugene’s clothing. He also rocked into him with more of a determination now, effectively dry-humping his leg, Eugene could feel his erection brushing against him and it made heat pool in his stomach and going lower, lower, _damn_ —

“Wait” he breathed.

“Eugene” Snafu said, slurring it even more than he usually did, and it was unbearable. Words just tumbled out of his mouth then, as if he couldn’t keep them. “Gene, will ya, need it, you, you make me so…”

“No…no” Eugene said and it was tearing at him, but he had to. “It’s that stuff that makes you say this. You don’t want, not, not _me_ …”

“Bullshit” Snafu objected, and Eugene had rarely heard him speak so vehemently, with that molasses-slow drawl that made everything he normally said sound casual completely vanished from his voice. The – whatever hellish concoction he had consumed still made him slur, but now it was an entirely different animal to hear: “I have wanted you since you went back for me on that fucking airfield.”

“That’s…still…” Eugene fought for words. Snafu was too close, running his hands all over, driving him mad. Eugene could only breathe him, could smell him, a heady musk that effectively clogged up his brain. He needed to get out of this.

“We can’t” he choked out. “Not like this, not with you like this. Why don’t you just…go back to your own room and beat off?”

“You think I didn’t try that? It doesn’t _help_. I’m _dyin_ ’, Gene.”

The sudden throwback to Pavuvu and “look at my eyes” didn’t do much to make the situation any less difficult. Eugene tried not to inhale.

“You’ll survive.”

“No” Snafu insisted, the word half a moan. “Don’ kid yourself, Eugene” he muttered, stroking his skin. “You want it. You want it.”

“I do. I do. But…” Eugene gasped. _Focus_ , he thought to himself. _Focus. Don’t let him…_ Then a hand (such fine hands, Snafu had, sleek and long-fingered, delicate hands that had done indelicate things) found leverage on his ass, began to cup and knead and explore, while the other rubbed at his dick through his pants, making his half-erection worse. His blood pulsed, a needy ache growing, and suddenly it was him making the mewling, wanting sounds.

It got very hard to remember why they should not do this.

“Tell me what to do” Eugene breathed, but at the same time, out of some instinctual process, he pressed flush against Snafu, grabbed him and kissed him again as they stumbled backwards in the general direction of the bed.

It was all so very sloppy, so very desperate, both of them trying to do everything at once, breaking the kiss only to communicate through breathless urgent noises as Eugene tried getting way too many items of clothing out of the way and Snafu just helplessly ground his dick against anything he could get traction on.

Somehow they managed to end up actually on the bed with all clothes off and rutting up against each other. Eugene wished there was more time for admiring the moment as well as the man he was straddling, but Snafu needed it _now_. He only paused his grinding for a few seconds to kiss and suck and bite at the skin on Eugene’s shoulder, leaving hickeys and bruises and god, probably even bite marks in his wake. It was as if he wanted to tear into Eugene, sink his teeth into him and devour him whole and lord, Eugene would let him.

Snafu moaned and let out a string of gibberish, half English, half bastard French that Eugene didn’t have the mental capacity to even try and translate. He understood anyway.

“You like this, yeah?” he asked breathlessly.

“Yeah…Eugene, it’s…finally…so good, but…”

“But?”

“More” Snafu gasped. “Need us some more, Sledgehamma” he muttered against Eugene’s lips.

Another throwback, and Eugene jolted. “More, huh?” He grabbed at Snafu’s cock and pumped his fist up and down a few, rough, times. The movement felt familiar and not, like jerking himself off but inverted.

He made a surprised, keening sound when Snafu took hold of his dick in turn and his movements were sloppy with his need but more experienced than Eugene’s virginal hands, and Eugene realized Snafu had likely done this with a man before. He wanted to hold on to the thought and ask later, but was taken, again, by surprise as Snafu let his fingers stray further and graze over his hole, which he hadn’t anticipated would feel _so good._

“Here” Snafu breathed. “Wanna try that.”

“You…you wanna…?” Now, he’d heard stories of what it was “them queers” got up to with each other, he’d been in the marine corps. So Eugene’s eyes flitted down to Snafu’s cock again. “You wanna stick _that_ …in _there_?” he asked, mildly dubious, mildly panicked. The logistics of it all seemed…impossible. How did those queer fellas…oh well, how did those _other_ queer fellas _do_ it?

“No” Snafu elaborated, groaned. “I want you in me.”

Eugene wavered. It was so enticing how Snafu said it, it aroused him so but it looked like a recipe for disaster. “That’s…I’d hurt you.”

“Not if I show you how.” Snafu’s legs fell open, exposing everything he had to Eugene’s eyes. At the same time, he grabbed at Eugene’s wrist and guided his hand. “Gotta open it up, first.”

“I have an idea.” Eugene got up and off the bed, acknowledging but doing nothing about Snafu’s whine at the loss of his closeness.

“Come back here, Gene.”

“Immediately” Eugene replied and grabbed the vial off the dresser. _For internal and external use._ Damn you, voodoo grandma. Bless you, voodoo grandma.

“Hey, leave that stuff alone!” Apparently Snafu was _here_ enough to sound alarmed. That was good.

“Nu-uh.” Eugene popped the bottle open and spread a generous amount of the oily content on his fingers. “Makes it easier” he said, breathed in the heady scent of the liquid. Thus encouraged to get back to business, he tried to mimic Snafu’s earlier actions with his pointer finger, hesitantly exploring.

“God” Snafu groaned. “Get it _in there.”_

Eugene complied, following the half-slurred, half-panted instructions that came forth. “Oohh, yes. Do it again. Faster. Mmmmh. Put another one in. Hhh—yesss. Now scissor your fingers. Crook ‘em like so. Mmm, oh, again. Yeah, lovely, Eugene, lovely, more…”

Every sound he made went straight to Eugene’s cock, and he touched himself with his free hand, anxious now to get some friction. The feel of his hand slick with the oil relieved some pressure, but at the same time somehow made him throb even harder.

Snafu pushed up impatiently against his fingers. “Get your cock in there now. Go on. Line up an’ put it in.”

As Eugene aligned himself at Snafu’s entrance, a fresh wave of anxiety overwhelmed him. “You’re too tight… I’m not gonna fit.”

“It’s okay, jus’ do it.”

“I’m gonna hurt you.”

Snafu snarled: “I don’t _care_ if it hurts. Need you to goddamn fuck me senseless. _Now_.”

Eugene slid in easy, and his breath stuttered. Oh, it _was_ tight, but it was amazing. He pushed in further, craving more, more of the tight heat, more of the inarticulate filthy noises Snafu was making.

He gasped: “This is so—"

Snafu grunted, pushed up a little so he could look Eugene in the face. “Good, huh?”

Oh, he looked a mess. Debauched. Delectable.

Eugene’s hands found leverage on the small of his back, and he pushed him up until he was just about sitting in Eugene’s lap, legs wrapping around his hips. Like this, Snafu could push further down on his dick until Eugene was all in. He closed his eyes for a moment and savored the feeling of being wrapped up in Snafu so utterly, his body going through some indiscriminate convulsions with how absolutely beautiful it felt. Snafu wriggled a little.

“You can move, now.”

Eugene hummed happily. A great wave of fondness for Snafu swept over him, and as they went, together, through the rocking motions, he covered every inch of Snafu he could get to with tiny little kisses. As he caught sight of Snafu’s red-hard cock between them, already starting to leak, he started jerking it in time with his thrusts. It got the most thankful, greedy noises out of Snafu, he managed some real words but slipped off again into French, most of which flew over Eugene’s head. He went faster, deeper, harder. God, he was so close…

Then, a request. _“Say my name.”_

“Snaf—"

“No” Snafu groaned.

“Merriell” Eugene whispered hotly.

At that, Snafu’s body arched into one taut line and he came, spilling all over them, clenching around Eugene’s cock in such a way that it heaved Eugene over the edge pretty simultaneously. He let go of everything, let white light rip through his head and it was so bright, so much, such a pressure all unloading at once, for a second he feared he would die. It was his last coherent thought until he pulled out, hissing a little at how sensitive it all felt, missing the intimate warmth as soon as it went. He reached out sluggishly and touched Snafu, who was coming down beside him.

“Gotta do this again soon” he muttered.

“Gotta clean this mess up” Snafu said, stirring a little, but he seemed unwilling to go through with it, his eyes drooping closed. Eugene remained lying next to him, breathing in the scent of Snafu after sex, drifting softly into solid, dreamless sleep.

* * *

 

He woke up feeling extremely blissed out. A full night’s sleep without jerking awake from dread nightmares every few hours? Delicious.

Eugene stretched and found that some parts of his body were unpleasantly sticky. Hmmm. He stretched some more and brushed against an…object that was with him in the bed. A warm object that budged a little and said “nnnfff”…

Oh.

_Ooooh._

Last night came back to him in bits and pieces, and he jolted up and eyed Snafu’s prone form next to him. He looked like something out of a shameful wet dream, sullied, ravished. He was still asleep. The thought of what they had done together made Eugene’s dick twitch again.

“Goodness” he muttered and slid out of bed, careful not to disturb Snafu. He grabbed a towel and went to the bathroom to clean up, because some serious talking would have to happen in a few minutes, and he was not going to face it with dried ejaculate on his chest.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, We Had Sex And It Was Nice, Now How To Gay Relationship?  
> Thanks to all y'all who left kudos!! Just one more chapter to go, then this fic will be finished!!

Eugene got back into the room to see Snafu sitting up in bed, rubbing at his eyes, finding his bearings. He looked so cute it was painful to disturb him, but Eugene had to, so he let the door click shut.

“Morning, Snaf” he greeted tensely.

“Gene” Snafu looked up at him, wide-eyed. “Gene, listen, about…last night…”

“Yeah. Seeing as you were under the influence of that, umm…stuff, do you remember about last night…?”

“Everything. Gene, fuck. I’m so fucking sorry.”

Eugene creased his brows. That was not quite what he had expected. “Sorry? What for?”

“I, I took advantage of you…”

“No, it was the other way around, I should be sorry…”

They both broke off and just stared at each other for a second.

“Well” Eugene said. “Since we can’t both take advantage of one another at the same time, I think… we can conclude that no one did?”

“Can we now” Snafu muttered and got off the bed. He still looked a mess, and was walking a little funny as he made for the door. Eugene felt a strange mixture of concern, shame and pride at the thought that this was his doing. He positioned himself in front of the door and grabbed the handle, but didn’t turn the key. He wanted this conversation, but there were limits to everything.

“Please don’t leave” he requested. “Listen, last night was…last night was big.”

“I agree” Snafu said, chuckling weakly.

“And I would propose that we stay here and talk it out.”

Snafu made an uncertain noise. It was a weird scene. Here Eugene was, wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his hips, and there Snafu was, wearing even less than that. Not exactly the conditions Eugene had imagined he’d reveal his feelings under. But they had to make do.

“So, I still feel like I should have done more to stop you” he began.

“Shoulda stopped my own damn self” Snafu muttered, something close to self-depreciation in it. “If I’d just…I was kinda jus’ wishing…”

“No, it’s alright” Eugene soothed. “You initiated something I wanted to do for the longest time now.”

“You…wanted…?”

“Not this exact scenario, obviously. But I, I like you. A whole…lot.”

Snafu narrowed his eyes, maybe in confusion, maybe to mess with Eugene. “Well fucking damn good, or else we wouldn’t be friends. Which, I mean, if you, after this…”

“No, no, no. Shh.” Eugene shook his head. Somehow Snafu was thinking into the entirely wrong direction. Did he think because of what had happened, Eugene would be disgusted, cancel on the friendship deal and disappear? _How insecure must he be, underneath it all_ , he thought.

“It’s just…I’ve been having certain…feelings.” _Ah, screw this._ “I love you.”

Snafu looked at him. He blinked. Twice. He asked: “What?”

“I love you” Eugene repeated, a bit helplessly. But this was his truth, and it was one of the very few things he was, at the moment, absolutely sure of. “And not…not just as a friend. Not the whole foxhole buddy thing. I love you as…I, as I love you. I’m here because I love you. I can’t explain it any better. I know it’s very weird, us being two fellas and stuff. I just happen to love you.” Once he’d started saying it, he couldn’t seem to stop. It was alright, though. Maybe if he just kept talking, he’d find some better words eventually, words that actually explained something.

But then he felt the light touch of fingers on his mouth, and Snafu was suddenly very close.

“Really” he said.

Eugene nodded. Out of an impulse, he kissed Snafu’s fingers. “Yeah, really” he muttered past them as best as he could.

Snafu stared into his eyes for a while, as if searching for the lie there. Eugene tried his best to look as sincere as possible. Then Snafu said: “I’m gonna take my hand away now.”

Eugene nodded enthusiastically.

“I’m also gonna kiss you.”

“Very good! Consider me forewarned mmph--”

This kiss was different from the first one, slow, sweet, almost lazy, with no urgency behind it, just feeling. Again Eugene was struck with amazement by how soft Snafu’s lips felt, how nice the sweeps of his tongue despite the morning breath. He felt a warmth like fire inside as he deepened the kiss, wanting more, wanting to go on like this forever, literally not breaking the kiss until they both died, and continued until he felt dizzy from lack of air. It was Snafu who broke away so that they could both breathe.

“What are we going to do, Snaf?” Eugene asked.

“I’m gonna go clean up. Then I’m gonna go to work. Then we’ll see about this thing here” Snafu said, ever the pragmatic. He took another towel from the dresser, covered himself and went to the door.

“Oh and, Eugene?” he asked over his shoulder. “Remember last night when I told you to say my name? Jus’ for the record, it’s Merriell…I’ll love you if you use it.”

As the door clicked shut, Eugene thought about all the implications that held. He also opened the window to let fresh air in: the room still smelled of sex. Then he sat down on the bed and smiled as he heard Snafu banging on the wall one room over. “You used all the damn hot water, fuckin’ _putain_!”

“I’m very sorry, Merriell!” Eugene yelled back, which shut Snafu up. He grinned and leaned back on the messy bed. He’d have to do something about the sheets soon. They were pretty much ruined. He should also put some clothes on. In a minute.

Then he beheld a most rare and beautiful sound: Snafu humming a familiar tune to himself in the bath. Eugene caught himself quietly singing along: _Allons danser Colinda, Danser collé Colinda…_

In that moment he didn’t know what the future held, but he knew it would be sweet.

 

* * *

 

 

All through the day, Eugene felt like the protagonist in one of those Jane Austen novels his mother read. While Snafu was at work, he stayed at home waiting, pining, fidgeting, the secret of last night and this morning’s kiss tucked tightly to his chest, where it glowed so brightly he thought it might shine right through him for all the family to see. He was – _coincidentally_ – smoking on the front porch watching the sun set when the noise of the beat pickup Snafu drove heralded his arrival. Five minutes later he came to sit down next to Eugene, all tired limbs and sawdust in his hair.

“Hiya” he said by way of greeting, took a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it. “So, ready for the talk?”

“Don’t you wanna go inside first, grab something to eat? You look exhausted.”

“Been through worse. Let’s do this first, okay?”

“Alright.” Eugene quickly went through the thoughts he’d had over the course of the day…and maybe, just maybe, over the last few weeks.

“So, last night was amazing” he started. “And I’d like to do it some more. I’d also like…to go steady, you know. I’d like to kiss you like this morning again. I’d like to go to bed with you and wake up in the morning next to you. If we’re not on the same page here, just say the word.”

“Actually I’d love that” Snafu said quietly.

“Good. Good” Eugene replied, grinning. “Wanna go in and see if your ma needs help with dinner?”

And maybe that, in the end, after weeks of fretting, was all it needed.

 

* * *

 

 

The next morning, maman said over breakfast: “There’s a dance Friday night over at Assumption. How ‘bout it, Merriell?”

“I don’ need a belle at the moment, _mame_ ” Snafu replied. “Gene an’ I are both good.” And he squeezed Eugene’s hand plainly to see on the table.

Maman’s glance darted between them, and after a moment’s hesitation she said: “Ah, good. ‘Bout time, bébé. You be careful, the both of you, uh.”

“You knew it?” Eugene would ask her later.

“Considered it” maman would reply. “It was one possible way how things could play out. I’m ‘Riell’s mother, cher, I know his tastes.”

“You don’t have anything against it?”

“Don’t see nothin’ wrong with it. Ain’t gonna give me grandkids, but I can’t have _everything_ now. Long as my son’s happy. And” she stressed again, “careful.”

 

* * *

 

 

And they were careful. The days that followed were holding hands in secret behind the house where no one could see, kisses exchanged on a lonely boat in the middle of the swamp, sex that was a lot of giggling and hushing each other so they wouldn’t wake the whole house. Eugene felt like a twelve-year-old with a schoolyard crush all over again. Unbelievable, if you looked at them, that they were grown men, veterans even. And while this was all very cute and sweet, it still left a lot to be desired, which was why, some weeks into this, they were sitting on the porch once more, smoking, watching the sunset, and having The Talk all over again.

“I really am in this for the long haul” Eugene said. “Really I am. But the long haul can’t be this.”

“I think we gotta talk about what ya getting’ into, with this relationship, huh” Snafu replied earnestly. “I wanna stay with you, but you’re gonna be missin’ out on a lot.”

“I know it. I know I can never marry you, or even just walk about the place holding hands with you. I know we’re veering off into the technically illegal here. I know I’m going to have to lie a lot, to people who are my friends, to my family even. I’m gonna have to listen to bullshit questions on why I haven’t gotten a girl yet. I can’t introduce you as my significant other at parties. I can never show the world how happy and proud I am to have you by my side. That’s not gonna be easy. It’s gonna be frustrating as hell. And I know it.”

There was a moment’s silence. Then Eugene added: “I don’t suppose you’d leave Louisiana.”

“No.”

No. Of course. His family still needed him here. Eugene didn’t doubt Snafu’s feelings for him, but if he made him choose between his family and himself (which was a thing only an utter prick would do) then it would probably be _so long, Sledgehammer_.

“I was thinking, I must go home to my parents at some point. Maybe you’d come with.”

Snafu snorted. “I’m goin’ to ‘bama the day this washes off.” He showed Eugene his naked, tan-skinned arms. It took Eugene a moment to get what he meant.

“I didn’t survive the Pacific to end up lynched by the population of Mobeeeeel.” 

“The folks I grew up with don't usually lynch people."

Snafu smiled humorlessly. "Yeah?"

We’re not _that_ racist in Mobile” Eugene tried to argue, but then he remembered…well, everything. The way almost every family he knew still employed black servants for basically pocket money, and the way they were still treated as if they were invisible. Even his parents, whom he knew to be polite, god-fearing, honest people, did that without questioning. To take Snafu from his home turf and plant him in this dry, sinless, spotless place where Eugene and Sid Phillips had spent their youth trudging through dusty streets and kicking at pebbles in the kind of immeasurable boredom that slowly lulled you into a lifetime of inactivity, until the marine corps had seemed like a breakout, like a breath of fresh air, like a promise…he couldn’t. _Especially_ not Snafu who would be sneered at left and right even though he deserved so much praise for doing what he did and being who he was.

Eugene shook his head. If a few years ago someone had told him he’d come out of the war infatuated with a loudmouthed chain-smoking backwoods Cajun male, he would have laughed at them, and maybe not the pleasant kind of laugh either. Suddenly he felt like the need to wrap his arms around Snafu and hold him as close as humanly possible.

“I’m not taking you to Alabama” he said into his hair.

“Okay…?” said Snafu, who didn’t quite know what to do with Eugene’s change in mood. “But, if you won’t stay in Louisiana, and I won’t go to Alabama, are you sayin’ it can’t work? We can’t work?”

“Nonsense. Of course I’ll stay in Louisiana, if that’s what it takes. I just have to go back to get my things in order and see my parents…at least once more, depending on how everything plays out. We’ve been through two battles together – three for you – we can make this work. But as I said, it’s not always going to be easy.”

“When’s anything ever always easy?” Snafu reflected. The question seemed to be rhetorical, as he went on: “What are you gonna tell 'em?”

“I don’t know. Maybe the truth. I’ll see when I get there.”

“And then you’ll come back?”

“Then I’ll come back.”

“I’ll be lookin’ out for a place ‘round here. New Orleans is best, easier to do the whole queer thing inna big city. Not everyone knows everyone else. People ain’t gonna give that much of a shit. Closer to work, too.”

“Can we afford a place of our own?”

“We gonna make do. I still got some Jap gold left. Ain’t gonna be much, though. I was thinking two-room, if that’s good enough for you…?”

He asked it completely without irony, which made Eugene’s heart clench a little, again. “Sna—Merriell, I’d happily live in a broom closet if it meant having you with me.”

Snafu grinned. “You’re gettin’ the hang of the whole _Merriell_ thing.”

“You used to hate it when anyone called you anything but Snafu. What changed?”

Snafu shrugged. “Maybe it’s because it’s you. Also that was back in the war, an’ now it’s not the war. That’s important to remember.”

Eugene hummed in agreement, and felt it in the air between them that Snafu…that Merriell was talking about more than just his war nickname. He was talking about starting over, about healing, about a first step on a long journey of getting better, and being together.

“Do they have a university in New Orleans?” he asked. “I was thinking I should start taking some classes…”

Huddling close together, they started hashing out the future they were going to have.


	9. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> IT IS DONE

Ever since the war, it took quite something to get Eugene out of breath, but he figured climbing this hellish flight of creaking stairs while carrying two heavy bags could well be compared to humping a bloody mortar launcher up some miserable hill. Or maybe civilian life was taking its toll already, getting him out of shape. Who knew?

Finally he arrived in front of the right door, but knocked before even starting to fumble for his keys. Snafu liked to be forewarned when anyone, even Eugene, entered his space. Tripping his defenses rarely ever resulted in violence (these days), but Eugene didn’t like how Snafu flinched, startled, when being suddenly approached. So he made it a habit to be a little careful.

He had to smile, as always when he stepped into the apartment. Whenever he thought of his – of their – new home, the first adjectives that came to mind were “small” and “sunlit”. It was only two rooms, not counting the bathroom, but they’d both hated the thought of it being glum, so they’d agreed on windows, as many and large ones as possible. Now they had windows, and a fire escape for Snafu to smoke on, and there were always rays of sunlight in which dust particles danced and looked like tiny stars.

Snafu had wanted to live in the French Quarter and he’d been lucky; furthermore his natural charm had gotten him into the discreet landlady’s good graces fairly quickly, she thought he was a bit of a rascal, all things considered. Eugene had laughed politely and thought that lady didn’t know half the things to be considered, but then she’d fixed a sharp gaze on both of them and said: “You two boys aren’t gonna make me any trouble, are you?” When they had asked her what she meant, she’d replied: “I say it ain’t my business whatcha doin’, but the law sees things differently. Gonna look bad on me when when y’all two get dragged outta here in handcuffs, talk’s gon’ be that I’m housing criminals in here. Keep it quiet. I can name you a few places ‘round town where y’all two can let ya hair down.” It had turned out Snafu knew of most of these places already and had, in the days that followed, taken Eugene to some of them.

Now, however, Eugene set his bags down and turned to where Snafu had appeared to greet him with a kiss.

“Hey, Mer” he said warmly. Merriell was still an unwieldy name for casual use, so he’d tried to find abbreviations, nicknames that weren’t Snafu. _‘Riell-Francis_ was for maman to use alone, but even with that silent rule to obey, Eugene found there were plenty of things one could do with the name _Merriell_.

Snafu fixed him a quick cup of joe (the coffee he made was legendary) while Eugene stowed his bags away. They were big and heavy because they held most of his old life from Mobile, neatly packed up. He already looked forward to unpacking and spreading his stuff all over the apartment. It felt like a last touch that needed to be applied to make it really look like home.

“So how are things with your folks?” Snafu asked.

“Good” Eugene said and sat down at the kitchen table. “Well…good enough for me.”

“What did you tell ‘em?”

“The truth, after some back and forth. Yes!” he said with a sarcastic, tired sort of grandeur. “I told my parents and my brother I would be leaving home permanently to pursue a career as a _homosexual_ with my war buddy.”

Snafu placed the coffee cup in front of him and trailed his fingers through Eugene’s hair.

“Oh, Eugene” he said softly.

“Don’t _oh, Eugene_ me. My mother did enough of that.”

“So what now? You’re disowned?”

Eugene chuckled. “No. My father doesn’t see much wrong with it, surprisingly…he thinks it’s my life and I must do what I must do. I think he’d like to meet you.” He ignored Snafu’s panicked expression at that… for the time being. It was a topic for later, it didn’t need to be addressed now. Briefly he recalled what had been the most uncomfortable talk he’d ever had with his father in his study, and yes, it had beaten their discussions about Eugene wanting to enlist.

_(“Father, may I ask you a question?”_

_“Yes, Eugene?”_

_“So you know I’m planning on moving in with my friend from the war…”_

_“Ah yes. The one you’re talking about all the time.”_

_“I, umm…” Eugene had faltered. “There’s something you should know… but I don’t know how to tell you it.”_

_“Then don’t” Dr. Sledge had said quietly. “There’s no need for you to try and explain yourself. Say, there’s something I’m curious about regarding that friend of yours.”_

_“Hmm?” Eugene had longed for Snafu to be with him then. It wasn’t fair that he should be made to feel so small and alone in his childhood home._

_“Well, you told us a great deal about how he has saved your life time and again in the war, but that doesn’t help me picture what kind of man he is. It’s a pity you couldn’t bring him along, I’d love to get to know him, develop my own opinion. But I do hope you find him handsome, apart from the life-saving aspect. It would make the whole thing easier for your mother to accept, give it some sort of romantic touch, don’t you think? Your mother is a very romantic woman. And besides, you should never be with someone whom you can’t see some sort of beauty in. When I met your mother…but I digress.”_

_At that point Eugene had been collecting his jaw from the floor._

_“Oh, don’t **look** at me like that, son. I’m a doctor. Back in my day I was an **army** doctor. Let me just say, homosexuality is not a new invention. It has been around during the last Great War. You have no idea how many fellas stumbled into my aid station who hadn’t gotten shot or stabbed but had been fooling around with each other and gotten hurt because they had no idea what they were doing. I assume your young man knows what he’s doing?”_

_“Yes” Eugene had said simply, blushing._

_“Good for the both of you” Dr. Sledge had said. “Listen, Eugene, many members of my profession regard homosexuality as a disease they are positive they can find a cure for. I always felt a sort of… quiet contempt for these people. These soldiers I very discreetly treated did not look diseased to me. And neither do you. Honestly you’re looking healthier than you have in a long time. Look out for it to stay that way, and you will face no judgment from me. Your mother, however…”)_

“My mother… will come around I’m sure. She just needs some time.”

“So she wasn’t…”

“Wasn’t too thrilled, no. But honestly…I don’t see why this should be her business anymore. At my age I shouldn’t have to consult my mother to make decisions regarding my life. There’s really no need for her to baby me.”

Merriell Shelton, who had become his family’s main breadwinner at twelve years old and possessed no memories of ever being babied, smiled indulgently.

“Sure, Eugene” he said. “You got some mail while you were gone…didn’t open it but I think one of ‘em’s from some university.”

“Good…let’s hope they accepted me…my father says he will support me if he just sees me doing something with my life.”

Snafu nodded and tried to act like this wasn’t a huge relief for him. He made enough to feed himself and send a little something home to maman by the end of the month, but taking on Eugene on top of that would have put a considerable strain on his budget. And for Eugene, who was used to a certain lifestyle, this would be a problem no matter what he said. There was nothing romantic about poverty.

But for now, Eugene could not find any stain on their small, sunlit apartment, or the man he shared it with, and reveled in finding new things he could do with the name Merriell every day. Such as:

-shortening it to Mary. Nothing got Snafu more livid, and nothing knocked the wind out of his sails more effectively during playful arguments at dinner about god-knows-what. “ _Mary_ ” he’d repeat sourly. “You _wish_.”

“No, actually I don’t” Eugene would say…

-saying it tenderly in the morning, accompanied by a poke and a phrase like “Come on, wake up, time for work…”

-shouting it across the crowded dance floor of one of these secret clubs that existed in New Orleans, those that were filled with men and women and their same-sex partners, and yes, some of these places were costly but every once in a while that didn’t matter because the world outside was coated in a layer of small-minded bullshit (at least that’s how Snafu expressed it) and getting to hold hands in a semi-public place, and meeting others, getting some re-affirmation that they weren’t alone in this, was freeing…

-whispering it in the middle of the night after bolting upright in bed from a nightmare, knowing that he’d always receive an answer, knowing _he’s there he’s there it’s okay…_

-and, the best yet, muttering it in his ear during sex, over and over and chanting like prayer, and watching Snafu keen and his back arch just from hearing it. It was such an important name.

To Snafu it meant _I see you, the real you, not some sort of ghost from the past, and certainly not someone whose natural state is fucked up._ To Eugene it meant a declaration equal to _I love you_. To a linguist it meant _of the shining sea_ (Eugene had looked) which was funny, because Eugene could distinctly remember Snafu lying spread-eagled on deck of the ship that had taken them home, because that was the only position in which the nausea was halfway controllable. Snafu had taken to the sea almost comically badly, had spent basically any stretch of time on a boat or ship puking over the railing and sometimes on people who pissed him off, and Eugene had remarked on one of these occasions that he probably would’ve been better off joining the paratroops. (“Who knows, maybe this happens with heights too” Snafu had grumbled.) If he was of the shining sea, he was most reluctant to return to it. Eugene made sure to utilize his new knowledge for teasing purposes as much as possible. They got even when Snafu found out his middle name (“ _Bondurant_ , Eugene?!”) and everyone was happy. Well, as happy as could be.

After some months a letter came from Mobile. Eugene could see the spots dark on the paper where his mother’s pen had hesitated, and he could hear the pauses in his ear as he read. His mother’s voice was just as hesitant in his head, stumbling over a word here and there because she didn’t know whether it was appropriate. None of this sparked resentment in Eugene. She had a lot to overcome.

She didn’t outright write it, but the gist of it was that she was slowly making her peace with Eugene’s choices, and the things about Eugene that were not choices. “We would love to welcome you and your young man for Thanksgiving, or maybe Christmas” she closed. “Whichever you prefer.”

The letter put a weight off his chest he hadn’t known he’d been carrying. He put it aside and took a pen and some stationary of his own.

“Dear mother” he wrote, “You cannot imagine how glad I am to hear from you…”

He did not, however, give an immediate affirmative to the invitation. “We’ll see if we can both make it out of Louisiana these days, although I honestly doubt it. Merriell’s a family man…” he paused and grinned because it sounded bloody stupid, and everyone in K CO would have immediately called bullshit, but it was _not a lie_ , “…and will probably want to spend the holidays with his mother and his sisters, whom I’ve grown very fond of myself. Apart from that, we always have to consider his work schedule.” Also Merriell would have a freak-out when Eugene told him there was a standing invitation for him to the Sledge family dinner. But Eugene knew his mother, and knew that if they didn’t go to Mobile soon she would come down to New Orleans herself, even if she had to fight her way through the bayou with a machete to meet her basically-son-in-law.

Eugene put the letter down. Tomorrow he would take it to the post office before heading to school. He was getting more and more familiar with the city. He had feared he wouldn’t like the urban life, and after Mobile it had surely gotten some taking used to, but he found it quite alright now. It was hard to get bored in New Orleans.

There were still many things to do. The repercussions of the war were still weighing both of them down, and even if there had never been a war, their relationship was still not an easy one. The road to their very personal, quite a bit uncommon brand of happiness was long and winded and full of treacherous potholes to navigate around… but sometimes, in moments like this one, with a ray of golden sunlight falling in through the window and illuminating his mother's peace offer on the desk next to a cup of coffee courtesy of his resplendent boyfriend... Eugene felt like he was already there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was that bye now (:   
> It's been a blast working on this fic and I'm gonna miss it, but at the same time not because I have so many new ideas (: so, expect a lot of Sledgefu yet to come. honestly it's not like I'll stop being obsessed with these two dorks anytime soon. Loads of thanks to everyone who left kudos or a comment, without you guys I would've never made it past like chapter 5. Hope you'll be tuning in for my other stuff!!


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